Let the Monster rise
by Those sadistic tendencies
Summary: AU: Spoilers for 'The Crimes of Grindelwald' - Gellert Grindelwald was never a forgiving man, and for Newt Scamander's part in his imprisonment and for Dumbledore's trust in him, he plans for the Magizoologist to suffer. Themes of violence, torture, dark themes, swearing and alluded to Albus Dumbledore/Gellert Grindelwald. GrindelNewt. Gramander. Scamander bromance
1. 1 - 'Something Wicked'

**A/N I have moved the events backwards for the purposes of this story and to delay the Credence plotline**

 **"An Illustrated Man so dark, will own your very soul!" - 'Something Wicked (That way went)' -Vernian Process**

 _Set the night after Grindelwald escapes MACUSA custody in 'Crimes of Grindelwald'._

 _London, England, 2nd of February 1927, Outside of the British Ministry for Magic_

Newt pulled up the collar of his blue woollen coat further against the chilly wind and dismal rain as he left the Ministry building, making his way on foot back towards the house he owned in London. He could have apparated, probably should have, but the latest of the repeated rejections from the Ministry's travel board had dashed his hopes more than it had the previous times.

Their ridiculous offer for him to be the one to hunt down Credence had shocked him more than he had cared to admit. The very idea that his own brother would believe he would ever agree to join the Auror's hunt for a troubled, innocent boy was… he couldn't imagine what had gone through Theseus's head when he suggested the idea. He, Newt, an Auror? He couldn't imagine ever becoming one of the careerist hypocrites. He might work for the Ministry in his capacity as a member of the department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, but he would never stoop to hunting his fellow wizarding kind and actively involving himself in conflict on a regular basis. His current occupation of compiling information for his book on magical creatures was much more to his taste and abilities – travel, independence, regular contact with interesting beasts and the chance to inform others on the subject. Perfect.

The book was in fact very near completion, all that was left was to do now was gain the final approval of the publishing from 'Obscurus Books' and to request a forwarding note from Professor Dumbledore. Hopefully his book would educate the wizarding community a little and help then to understand the creatures of their world – he hoped it would be a much-needed step forward in creature-wizard relations.

He needed to clear his head, the rain was helping, but Newt longed to return home to see his creatures, nothing ever made him feel better than being able to spend time with his friends and this time was no different. People were… difficult for him - always had been - but magical creatures were another matter entirely. No matter how many bites, burns, rashes, broken bones and other injuries he endured; dealing with his Magizoo was far easier to him than any human relationship.

Magical creatures had patterns and behaviours that you could learn, and it was usually a simple matter of gaining their trust by treating them well – simple. People, however, were far more complex and were much more liable to cause pain and be decidedly unpredictable. Like with Leta and Theseus… the only exception he had found to his difficulties had been oddly enough been with Percival Graves of all people.

Since he had released him from his imprisonment in the tunnels beneath New York, they had kept in frequent postal correspondence over the following months. The long distance may have been a significant part of what made the blooming friendship easier, but it may have also been the bluntness that Graves had about him – he was easier to read and had more predictable behaviours… like Newt's creatures. While he also had kept in contact with Tina, Jacob and Queenie, he was never quite sure how to phrase anything with them, as Tina was indecisive by her nature, while her sister was flamboyant and impulsive. It was all rather confusing.

Deciding that he had had enough of walking in the rain to clear his head, Newt ducked into a nearby alley and apparated right onto his front doorstep, unlocking the door with a flick of his wand and bustling into the hallway. He shucked off his wet coat and scarf, throwing it haphazardly onto a nearby table and hastening to put down his case, but then paused… there was a baby Bowtruckle skittering across the carpeted floor towards him. The little creature's stick-like legs were pumping fast to reach Newt, so he reached out a finger and held the Bowtruckle up to his face. He was one of Pickett's children, and the mother Bowtruckle crawled out of Newt's top pocket to meet the younger, both clearly very agitated as they greeted each other. Newt knew instantly that something must be very wrong; baby Bowtruckle were not allowed to leave their homes unless threatened.

"What is it little one?" Newt muttered to him, frowning as he glanced around the room, now noticing that the cabinet he had set aside within his living room for the Bowtruckles was currently blasted apart on the floor nearby. He had felt the need to allow an area in the main house for the Bowtruckle family, because Pickett spent so much of his time in Newt's pocket. He had hollowed out the legs of a cabinet for the creatures to live in - to emulate their natural habitat. The rest of the family were currently clustered together in the fragments of broken wood – all eight of them accounted for and looking to be fine other than their obvious fright.

Now that he looked around, Newt noticed that there were more broken and knocked over objects and furnishings around the room, it looked like there had been some sort of fight in his house. No muggle should have been able to get into his house as he enchanted the doors, windows and locks to keep his creatures safe – it must have been a witch or wizard. Leaving Pickett with her children on the floor, Newt drew his wand and cautiously began scanning the rooms of the ground floor.

To his relief the charms and door to his underground creature paradise were soundly locked and in place; Bunty must have locked up properly as per usual. His ever-helpful assistant should have left by now, so it was unlikely that it was her who did the damage, there was no sign of her coat on the rack in the hall, so she was probably at home – unless she was with Newt she never tended to stay long after her hours.

Finding nothing on the ground floor, Newt ascended the stairs to his bedroom, the door was ajar, and he heard broken glass crunch beneath his worn leather boots as he pushed the door fully open. To his shock and dismay, he saw Bunty lying in a pool of shattered mirror pieces and blood, he quickly knelt by the woman, checking her wrist, feeling a flood of relief as he felt a strong, if slightly thready pulse beneath his warm fingertips. She was just unconscious; by the looks of it had been blasted back into the mirror and had hit her head, if the bloody mark on her forehead was anything to go by.

He only had a split second's warning from the crunching of glass behind him that made him aware of another's presence, before a hex exploded the wardrobe door in front of where he had been standing a mere second before. He re-apparated at the top of the stairs behind his attacker, sending a quick flurry of jinxes and hexes in the direction of his hooded attacker which were repelled and retaliated ten-fold. Newt deflected most of them, but one clipped his shoulder, and he faltered momentarily, his opponent took advantage of his moment of weakness and shouted a more powerful verbal spell. " _Alarte Ascendare_!"

Unfortunately, that spell happened to be one Newt was painfully familiar with from past duelling sessions with Theseus – the red streak of light sent him flying through the air, crashing backwards through the bannister and onto the ground-floor hallway. The air was knocked out of Newt's lungs and his shoulders, back and arms took the brunt of the fall, he rolled quickly to his feet as he heard footsteps clattering down the staircase. He took a moment to flick his wand at his case, sending it far away from the house - to the only place he knew it would be safe - before he flung himself out of the front door, apparating the moment he left the building.

He was not a violent man and did not want to become involved in conflict unless absolutely necessary, so retreat seemed like the best idea at the moment. Once the familiar, sickening sensation of being squished out of existence ended, Newt took a moment to assess the dark tunnel he had appeared in. It was an area of the tube system that had yet to be completed – he had discovered it the previous year while chasing a rogue Demiguise - later named Dougal - that had been brought to his attention by a local warlock who, at the time had been hunting it for it's precious skin. Newt wasn't really sure why he had chosen here as his first escape point, but it was at least deserted and out of the way, should his pursuer find him once more. He didn't want anyone else getting caught in a crossfire between him and whoever was after him.

He stood for a few minutes, simply recollecting his thoughts, trying to think of what he should do. The man who attacked him was - for the moment - an unknown, he could only think of a few reasons why someone might try to lay a trap for him in his own home. The first was because they were one of the magical creature hunters that he had previously encountered and angered - because he had saved the creatures from the greedy, cruel men. But that didn't seem too likely if they left the Bowtruckles alive and mostly unharmed. The only other idea that occurred to him was much worse…that they were supporters of Grindelwald who wanted revenge on Newt for his part in the dark wizard's capture.

It made sense – Grindelwald's trial was meant to have been held yesterday according to what Theseus and Tina had told him, so Grindelwald's fanatics might well be angry at the loss of their hero. Deciding that going to his brother might well be the best decision right now - despite how much he wished he had a better alternative - Newt knew that Theseus was probably the only person in London whom he could turn to.

Suddenly, the crack of someone apparating alerted Newt to another wizard's arrival, and he swivelled around on his heel to face the newcomer. His heart thundered so loudly in his ears that he almost didn't hear the words that echoed down the tunnel with soft, dangerous clarity, but Gellert Grindelwald's voice was hard to mistake. "I do apologise for Abernathy's over-enthusiasm in following my orders to collect you, but being locked up in MACUSA's highest security cells will do that to a man."

The leather-clad man strolled slowly, leisurely down the tunnel towards him, white-blonde hair and silver eye gleaming in the moonlight that leaked from the open end of the tunnel. Newt held up his wand in readiness to defend himself, shock causing adrenaline to course through his veins, his hands shook slightly as he warily eyed the approaching wizard.

Attacking first was probably not a good idea, his duelling skills were no match for Grindelwald's - they never were – he had only managed to apprehend him last time with a combination of surprise, luck and the help of a Swooping Evil. He was way out of his depth – apparition seemed like the best approach again. As if sensing Newt's thoughts, Grindelwald halted a few feet from him and nodded his head behind Newt, glancing behind himself the younger wizard saw a golden shimmer of magic covering the other end of the tunnel.

"There's no point in attempting to apparate away to your brother, Mr Scamander, I've heard that apparating into a shield of this power is _quite_ the unpleasant experience." Grindelwald cautioned him, a slight smirk twisting at the corner of his pale lips. Newt remained silent, unsure of what now to do – he had no way of escape, no creatures to assist him and no one knew where he was.

Looks like fighting was the only option he had.

Newt sent a flurry of hexes towards Grindelwald, who deflected them so easily that the Magizoologist knew instantly that he didn't stand a chance. He cast a shielding charm in anticipation of the attack he knew was coming, the spell held for not even a minute under the onslaught before Grindelwald broke through with a casual flick of the Elder wand. Newt staggered back a step or two, before one final spell sent him crashing back into the shield behind him, fiery sparks of pain lanced up his spine and all through his torso before he fell to the ground.

"Let's see how you like it, Mr Scamander." Grindelwald murmured coldly, flicking his wand to draw the younger man up onto his knees, thin silvery chains appearing and lashing themselves around Newt's arms – binding him from wrist to shoulder. He became painfully aware of the similarities between what had happened the last time they met, in New York – the tunnel, one of them bound and on their knees. He just wished it wasn't this way around.

He could still feel the reassuring weight of his wand pressed onto the back of his palm, crushed up against his skin by the magical bindings, it allowed Newt to feel a small thrill of hope. If he could manage to manoeuvre his wand around into his palm, he might just be able to take Grindelwald by surprise long enough to escape.

He felt Grindelwald's gaze pierce him for a several long moments before the man moved behind him, the bonds suddenly loosened around his hands. The weight of his wand fell away and a moment later Grindelwald moved back in front of him, Newt's wand held lightly in his pale grip. A mass of dread settled upon Newt's chest as his last hope was taken away and the chains tightened around him once more.

He let out a quiet grunt as the bonds pulled harshly on his already sore arms and shoulders, but he kept his gaze fixed to the ground. Newt's natural shyness and uncomfortable behaviour around confrontation, and if he was honest - humans in general – was taking over. He couldn't bring himself to meet the gaze of the powerful dark wizard that stood before him – not necessarily out of fear, more uncertainty of what he wanted with him. That combined with the crushing feeling of helplessness that was now weighing down on him.

No one knew where he was. His creatures, at least were safe, tucked away in his case in a place that Grindelwald would likely never find them - that was one mercy. The rest were magically protected by his underground haven and hopefully Bunty would recover enough to take care of them. But the feeling of knowing that he was alone and defenceless against the greatest dark wizard of his time was understandably... disconcerting to say the least.

"There now, Mr Scamander, I asked you a question…" Grindelwald's voice was still soft and almost coaxing, but Newt could tell that it was a practiced calm, covering a cold kind of fury. Grindelwald's ever superior, cold demeanour in place like an impenetrable shield. He kept his gaze fixed downwards, not bowing his head or slumping under the gaze, just averting eye contact.

Grindelwald suddenly gripped his coppery-blonde hair by the fringe and forced the younger man to look into those eerie mismatched eyes. Newt shifted uncomfortably at the forced human contact but made sure to convey with his own gaze that he was not going to submit quite so easily to Grindelwald. The dark wizard seemed to see the defiance in his eyes and a small, slightly wonder-filled smile flitted across his face.

"I was hoping you would show that fire again, I suppose that must be what Dumbledore sees in you." He released Newt's hair and took a step back to regard him for a long few moments. Newt shifted uncomfortably under the stare.

"Well, I guess I'll just have to find out for myself, won't I?" Grindelwald's expression then turned ugly, another sneer turning up his pale lips as he gripped Newt by the arm and pulled him to his feet.

"For a man who claims not to choose sides, you've certainly picked the wrong one by opposing me. You might just live to regret that, Mr Scamander."

There was a crack and then the tunnel was empty.


	2. 2 - 'Such Horrible Things'

**"Let me tell you a tale where justice does not prevail. About an ill-fated life, so very full of strife, where two wrongs do not make a right." - 'Such Horrible Things' - Creature Feature**

Newt crashed to his knees as he and Grindelwald reapparated. They were now in a room that was constructed from dark stone and was coldly lit by blue-fire torches. He swayed a little; side-apparating was often an unpleasant experience but doing so against your will was twice so. Newt's stomach was flipping uncomfortably, knotting and cramping like mad as he tried to take deep, reassuring breaths to settle himself. He surveyed the room with some trepidation, from what he could see, there was only one door, which was situated to the left of him. If the symbols that were carved into the gleaming metal were anything to go by, it was heavily enchanted, it was highly unlikely that apparating out would be an option - not that he had really expected any less. There was a stale, dry smell to the place, the kind of smell that usually came with long disuse in an otherwise clinical environment.

Grindelwald released his grip on Newt's arm and moved over to the door, moving his wand in a twirling motion that resulted in a loud series of clicks and the engraved symbols glowed brightly before fading back to normal. Newt closed his eyes momentarily, this situation was just getting worse and worse – he was now bound, wandless and magically sealed in a room with a homicidal dark wizard whom he had personally scorned.

When had his life turned down such a dark path? He knew the answer to that, even if he didn't want to admit it to himself – Dumbledore. When he had made Newt aware of the trafficked Thunderbird and suggested he take it to America to release it in Arizona, the Magizoologist had known deep down that his former teacher had ulterior motives. He had heard of the issues the American Ministry had been having with an unknown magical force causing destruction in a pattern that was painfully familiar to Newt. After what he had experienced with the young girl in Sudan, he had recognised the signs of an Obscurial quickly from the reports.

He had prayed at the time that he was wrong, but once he reached New York he couldn't help himself being quickly dragged into poor Credence's plight even if he had tried. Pairing that with his instinct to prevent harm to all living creatures where he could, Newt couldn't really blame his current situation entirely upon Dumbledore – all his decisions had been his own. He just had had a significant nudge in a certain direction.

He was drawn back to said situation when Grindelwald spoke for the first time since they apparated. The word was a mere whisper, but the effect was no less devastating as the flash of red light illuminated the room. " _Crucio_."

Pure agony spread through Newt's skin like acid fire, his back arched violently, and he couldn't hold in a scream of utter anguish. It was by far the most excruciating experience of his life – and Newt was no stranger to pain - it felt like his skin, blood and organs were being incinerated, blended and frozen all at once. His mind felt as if it couldn't even register the sensation on a normal level, so simply shut off all coherent thought while his body was being destroyed.

When it finally stopped, Newt took several long moments to realise he was no longer on his knees but lying on his side, curled in on himself as tightly as he could with his arms still held behind his back. His face was flushed red and contorted with pain even once Grindelwald had stopped the curse, the feeling of brain numbness remained; it was as though his pain receptors had been overloaded but were still somehow _horribly_ able to feel.

Newt looked up at Grindelwald through slightly watery eyes, forcing himself awkwardly up onto his knees once more, determined not to let him think he had broken him already. The dark wizard was looking down at him with an expression of unnerving captivation – a look that reminded Newt disturbingly enough of how he himself looked at a new magical creature. There was avid interest and a hint of wonder, but then also something else that he never felt – a cold, hard need for suffering.

"It took me longer than I had intended to abandon my charade as Abernathy, the Ministry insisted upon changing the date of my trial due to their paranoia. They were worried that even after I lost my tongue, I would be able to persuade my jailors to release me." Grindelwald smiled slightly, his mismatched eyes gleaming. "They were right of course, but it did make my escape that much more difficult to align with the rest of my plans."

"Then why w-waste your p-precious time coming a-after me?" Newt stuttered out the question, genuinely curious – as far as he was aware of Grindelwald's schemes, he couldn't imagine that he was at the top of the priority list. Not when Credence and Dumbledore were still out there. But did he even know about Credence's survival yet? There was no way to tell, so Newt decided to leave the question unasked.

"Why?" Grindelwald asked incredulously, pale eyebrows raised at him. "You are by far one of the most intriguing individuals I have come across in quite some time, Mr Scamander." He began to circle Newt slowly, the younger man kept his gaze downward once more, breathing heavily. "A man with a seemingly strict moral code of not involving himself in the affairs of others unless his collection of magical creatures is at risk… yet has repeatedly seemed to find himself in the wrong place at the wrong time."

He finished his predatory pacing, standing directly in front of Newt one more, his gaze indiscernible. "Albus Dumbledore shows favour for you and sent _you_ above many more talented witches or wizards to do his bidding. It was only you who figured out my true identity. Even Credence seemed to see something within you worthy of trusting over me, after only a few minutes of meeting you…" Grindelwald's eyes turned darker as he spoke of Credence and Dumbledore – clearly touchy subjects for the notoriously silver-tongued wizard. "Not to mention that with your aptitude for taming dangerous creatures, you could become an incredibly powerful individual should you choose to… yet here you are…. Doing research for a book and playing nursemaid for a magical menagerie."

Grindelwald crouched down to be on eye level with Newt, the younger wizard begrudgingly meeting his gaze. "You are an enigma, Mr Scamander. One that I intend to unravel."

Newt swallowed, shifting uncomfortably under the intense stare, before Grindelwald stood abruptly, withdrawing his wand once more, twirling it almost experimentally and sending a flurry of white sparks through the air.

"I'm not n-not all t-that mysterious really." Newt murmured, twitching the corner of his mouth up in a crooked smile. "I c-care about life…just n-not those who w-wish to extinguish it."

"That's where you're mistaken, Mr Scamander." Grindelwald spoke with an earnest tone to his voice now, as if he was willing Newt to understand something. "I care about the lives of others _far_ more than your so-called friends at the Ministry have ever done. _I_ am the one fighting for the betterment of our world - not only for the lives of those who hold the gift of magical blood, but for the Muggles as well. Without our intervention, the Muggles will bring destruction to this world like we have never before witnessed. I have seen it. I am merely attempting to restore the natural order of things. The wizarding community are far better equipped to handle the fate of all."

Newt felt outrage bubble up in his chest at Grindelwald's words, his sea-blue eyes burning as he met Grindelwald's gaze head on. "You don't care about life at all. You're merely using these misguided arguments about the 'natural order of things' to justify maiming and killing anyone who opposes you!"

"How young and naïve you are to believe everything that the Ministry tells you." Grindelwald's voice was chastising and condescending as he regarded Newt. "Or was it Dumbledore who has been dripping these lies in your ear? He always did have a way of convincing those around him to believe as he does, whilst making them believe it's of their own volition. A true manipulator through and through."

"Or maybe he was just the first person to realise what you were." Newt's voice was calm and quiet, but his eyes matched Grindelwald's own in their intensity. "Maybe he saw the darkness and the madness in you…" Newt's lowered his gaze and his voice dropped into a throaty, almost shamed whisper at the admittance of horrifying knowledge. "After what you did to his sister…"

Grindelwald's face morphed into a mask of fury and an uncomfortable twist of other emotions that Newt couldn't begin to identify. A moment later Newt was on his back, writhing in agony as Grindelwald performed the _Cruciatus_ curse upon him once more. The white-out sensation in his brain was absent this time however - it was just pure, agonising torment assaulting every single inch of his being with no reprieve.

Newt's screams echoed off the black stone walls as his body spasmed uncontrollably, his arms jerking in their restraints to no avail, his frame doing anything it could to escape the torment. The curse went on for an indiscernible amount of time, he couldn't register anything other than the suffering, before it suddenly stopped again. Newt gasped for breath, his face red and tears leaking from the corners of his scrunched closed eyes. The pain remained, though in a lessened form, his body twitched occasionally in the aftershocks of the curse. He opened his eyes just as Grindelwald flicked his wand at him once more, he flinched in anticipation of another assault, but the spell instead pulled him from the floor and threw him against a nearby wall.

Any hard-won air he had managed to drag into his lungs was knocked out of him as he collided with the stone, he felt the chains slither down to wrap only around his wrists, pulling his arms above his head and then melting into the wall behind him. Newt was now stood before Grindelwald, armed separated and locked to the stone above him, the bonds tightened to the point that his hands nearly felt numbed by the pressure.

"I see that Dumbledore has seen fit to trust you with an exceedingly _revised_ version of the truth about how we came to oppose one another." Grindelwald said in a forcedly calm voice, slicking a hand back through his white-blonde hair, but Newt could see the fury causing his jaw to tense and his hands to shake ever so slightly. Clearly, he had struck a _very_ tender nerve indeed. He hadn't meant to infuriate his captor quite so strongly, but the injustice of what Dumbledore had once told him about the fate of his younger sister, had compelled him to challenge the self-righteous wizard.

"And I'm supposed to b-believe that your version w-will be any m-more reliable?" Newt scoffed with a bitter slight chuckle. His natural nervousness often prompted him to attempt to find dry humour in situations; even if there was little or none to be found. It was an unfortunate coping mechanism of Newt's that was a part of the reason why he tended to rub people up the wrong way.

That same flicker of a smile flitted across Grindelwald's face for a moment before he replied with a subdued kind of sadness lacing his tone. "Ariana was killed during a duel between Albus, Aberforth and myself, but the blame cannot be placed upon my shoulders alone…. I was not the one who was aiming to kill – the only one throwing about lethal curses was Aberforth. Albus and I never really intended to harm one other. She lost control of herself and got in the way of her elder brother's foolishness." His hand went seemingly unconsciously to brush against something silver on his waistcoat before he readjusted the garment and looked back down at Newt with a frown.

Newt felt a cold chill go through him as he realised the truth that was in Grindelwald's words – it made sense. Though Dumbledore had made his opposition for Grindelwald's plans quite clear, he often spoke with a wistful tone that hinted at a much deeper regret. As much as he hated to believe anything that Grindelwald said, he could sense that the man at least believed his own words. It didn't make Newt trust him anymore, or Dumbledore any less, as his former teacher had never implied that Grindelwald had been the only one at fault.

"Why do you care what I believe?" Newt ventured, voicing his inner thoughts in a timid manner, lest he be Cruciated again for accidentally provoking him. "I thought you wanted revenge - I don't imagine that will involve me living to ever tell anybody about any of this. This confession likely won't reach the ears of your fanatics, Mr Grindelwald."

Grindelwald actually released a chuckle at Newt's brazenness, twirling his wand delicately through fingers in an absentminded fashion. Newt eyed it warily for a few moments before looking back up to Grindelwald, eyes tracing upon his left ear.

"I thought I'd made it quite clear to you, Mr Scamander that I find you interesting… I will admit my initial intentions were more inclined to simply making you suffer for your part in my capture - no matter how temporary it may have been. Setting an example of sorts" Newt shuddered slightly at the casual tone of the dark wizard's voice as he spoke of torture. "But now… well, if you were feeling so inclined to turn your talents to assisting the greater cause, I would be more than willing to ensure a place in the new world where your creatures could roam free."

Newt knew better than to be tempted by the silver-tongued snake's offer - no matter how appealing the concept of a world that could accept his magical creature friends for what they are - might be. The freedom of his creatures was not worth the subjugation and abuse of the rest of the world… no matter how much he wanted it.

"No." Newt murmured, averting his gaze from Grindelwald's own, he heard the other wizard sigh.

"That is very…disappointing. I shall leave you alone for a while to consider my offer further." There was a sharp swishing sound as Grindelwald flicked his wand in an angular pattern before pointing it at Newt.

The younger wizard let out a howl of pain that was soon muffled by the series of metal bands that fixed themselves to his face. One was secured tightly around his mouth, effectively gagging him, another was wrapped around the back of his head and the last one strapped painfully across his nose and connected at the top of his head with the others. The final result was a metal muzzle that cut deep into his skin with harsh metal edges, the metal seemed to heat up the longer it was on. Newt pulled frantically at the chains on his wrists in a vain attempt to reach the device and rid himself of it.

Newt looked up at Grindelwald with confused terror, questioning with his sea-blue eyes what he couldn't ask with words. Grindelwald looked at him impassively, his mouth held in his customary tight line before turning to the door and tapping it with his wand to release the locks. Just before he left the room, he glanced back and spoke in a sickeningly placating tone.

"I'm sure you know better than most, Mr Scamander, that if you wish to gain the trust of a creature, you must first break it's stubborn will."

The door slammed, leaving Newt alone in the dark as the blue torches flickered out.


	3. 3 - 'Misery is the River of the World

**"If there's one thing you can say about mankind, there's nothing kind about man." - 'Misery is the River of the World' - Tom Waits**

Theseus Scamander had… a complicated relationship with his younger brother to say the least. Newt had always been notoriously strong willed - especially when it came to the matter of his unhealthy and outright dangerous obsession with magical creatures. It had started off as a mostly innocuous, childhood fascination that had grown existentially out of control the longer it went on.

Theseus had hoped on the behalf of his brother that he would have grown out of it and settled down for a proper job like he had, but his hopes dimmed as the years went by. They were the last remaining family members of the Scamander bloodline, and, as the elder, Theseus felt the need to look out for Newt all the more so because of it. When he had gotten Newt a job with the department of Magical creatures, he had done so with the intention of introducing him to a real career. But of course, his sibling had then turned the opportunity on its head in his customary ridiculous way, by deciding to travel the world to write some bloody book.

It had not been easy to encourage his colleagues to accept Newt into the Ministry family, after the business during the Great War with all those grizzly dragon related deaths, but he had managed to convince them that it had not in fact been Newt's fault that the other Magizoologists had perished. It hadn't been really – Newt was just notoriously adept with beasts… but also unfortunately just as proficient at attracting danger.

He had chosen to help Newt out of a number of sticky situations over the years - whenever his meddling had landed him in Ministry custody, but more recently, he had decided to leave Newt to his own devices and hope that the younger would learn from it. He didn't. That was not even to mention the incredibly strained situation that had arisen with his engagement to Leta; he knew that they had once harboured fond feelings for one another that likely had never quite gone away.

Leta always seemed to be the one suggesting to him that they should invite Newt over for dinner, and even with his begrudging agreements, both always seemed to sense his reluctance. He didn't really want to shut Newt out, but he wasn't sure if he trusted them to be together for any extent of time without the fear of them rekindling old flames. A powerful Auror and war hero he may be, but even the great Theseus Scamander had his insecurities.

Very deep down, he knew that he was Leta's second choice - he believed that she honestly did care for him, but her love for Newt was never just going to disappear. It wasn't really either of their faults, it was just the way it was. The dominant part of Theseus' psyche just decided to focus upon the surface of the situation – they were engaged and cared deeply for one another. That was what was really important, wasn't it?

There was a part of Theseus that was somewhat grateful to Newt for distancing himself from himself and Leta, but his Auror's paranoia had long since overrode that feeling. He only discouraged Leta from interacting with his brother through non-committal gestures, but with Newt, there had been many heated arguments and frosty silences. Theseus's notoriously short temper was one of his personal shames, but when it came to Newt, his junior sibling often managed to get under his skin in just the way to set it off.

That was why, when Newt refused his hard-won offer to join the hunt for Credence and to be further included in the Ministry family, he felt nothing but exasperation and aggravation. Theseus didn't really understand why Newt would have refused it, he had seemed perfectly happy getting involved in the affairs of the Obscurial when he made his spontaneous trip to New York.

Despite however much Theseus had questioned Newt on the topic, the Magizoologist had remained mute on why he had 'just happened' to be in America when yet _another_ magical creature appeared. Not to mention Newt's unmasking of Gellert Grindelwald himself! He had been decidedly shocked when he learned of Newt's role in capturing the darkest wizard of their time and had only begrudgingly congratulated his younger brother for his accomplishment. He had been truly impressed, but Newt's distinct disregard for laws and propriety had landed him in a lot of trouble with MACUSA that Theseus had had to work hard to extricate him from… admittedly with a bit of help from Albus Dumbledore.

He had not pressed Newt too much on the topic of his work for Dumbledore, both out of respect for his former teacher and for the trust he placed in his brother. Despite their differences and difficulties, he knew that Newt was in fact a good man and that he only ever did what he felt was best.

Theseus was currently in his office at the British Ministry of Magic, preparing to leave after an obscenely long day that had caused quite a substantial headache to form behind him temples. The results of the trial of Grindelwald had not yet been published in any of the British wizarding newspapers, but Theseus had contacted his associates in MACUSA earlier that day to find out how the proceedings went. He had intended to wait for a response before leaving the office, but his pounding head and overall tiredness compelled him to return home to spend a quiet evening in with his fiancé.

Draping his coat over one arm, Theseus was just exiting his office when an interdepartmental memo swooped through the open door to land on his desk. The paper was coloured scarlet, which was the signifier for an urgent message, so Theseus sighed and went over to collect it. Flipping open the folded slip of red paper, Theseus read the short note quickly and let out a curse under his breath.

 _'For the eyes of Head Auror Theseus Scamander only - Gellert Grindelwald has escaped MACUSA's custody with the aid of Corelias Abernathy. He was detected entering the country last night. All departments must remain on high alert. Gather all Aurors to report for duty in the atrium immediately.'_

Trust the Americans to bugger everything up and let the darkest wizard of the century escape! Though he was of course aware of Grindelwald's infamously persuasive and slippery personality, Theseus liked to think that none of his department would have been so easily deceived. Theseus had always considered the Americans to be a group of extremists – evidenced by the death sentence that Newt and his friend were nearly placed under – but he was surprised that they had failed so spectacularly in their duties. He had personally suggested several precautions to the Americans via owl and memo to try to ensure the safety of the general Wizarding community.

He hurried to fulfil the requested gathering of his department, flicking his wand towards a pile of crimson paper and a quill that lay upon his desk, directing it to repeat the basic message to all the Aurors in the building. Within five minutes of Theseus reaching the main atrium, he was joined by at least twenty Aurors, all bearing serious expressions upon their faces. It was not the entirety of their force, but Theseus was aware that not all the department were still in the Ministry building. Largely due a recent raid, that left six of his Aurors injured and recovering in St Mungo's.

It wasn't long after the Aurors had assembled that there was a series of cracks that signalled the arrival of several wizards and a witch, the latter being vaguely familiar to Theseus. He turned to greet the American contingent's leader – Percival Graves had apparently not needed much time to recuperate from his stint as Grindelwald's prisoner and personal Polyjuice source.

He had met the fellow Head Auror the previous year when he had travelled over to personally ensure that Newt was returned to England. Over the subsequent months, he had kept in professional contact with Graves over the matter of Grindelwald's incarceration – the wizard being primarily a British problem after all.

He was aware of a burgeoning friendship between his younger brother and Graves, as Newt had been the one to find him, sealed away in the tunnels below New York city. Newt had claimed to have been searching for any final traces of Credence in the subway tunnels when Theseus had caught up with him. Theseus remembered becoming quickly irritable and impatient with his younger brother for not leaving when he was meant to, when Newt had stumbled upon a magically concealed area of tracks that Grindelwald had stowed Graves away in.

The man had been severely malnourished, magically bound, wounded and gaunt from his months in captivity when Newt and Theseus found him, but he had rallied quickly once released and recuperated for a few days. Newt had insisted that they remained in New York until Graves had at least partially recovered, which had taken a surprisingly short amount of time. Theseus had then practically dragged Newt back home, giving him long lectures on propriety the entire way back – most of which had seemingly been ignored.

Theseus could still see the strain that Graves was under, even if the stoic man hid it well; the pallor and thinness of his face gave him away slightly, along with a tightness around his dark eyes. Theseus nodded grimly at him and they gripped each other's hands briefly in greeting before addressing the issue at hand.

"Grindelwald escaped an uncertain amount of time ago, switching places with Abernathy – a member of our staff - for some time before he finally revealed himself when he hijacked the carriage meant to transport him. Rudolph Spielman is now dead, along with seven of our best Aurors." Graves reported in a grim tone, addressing both Theseus and the assembled Aurors. "The apparation detection charms around London were reportedly set off last night by an unregistered individual. We believe that it may have been Grindelwald returning to England, though for what purpose we are as yet uncertain."

A junior Auror in the crowd – Alania Milton, if Theseus remembered correctly – cleared her throat hesitantly, looking nervous as the attention of Graves and Theseus was drawn to her. "Mr Sca- um I mean H-head Auror S-scam-mander… I uh, just came from speaking with a woman who claims to have been attacked by a supporter of G-grindelwald at her employer's house in Bromley. She said someone was missing."

Alarm bells began ringing inside Theseus' head and he snapped around to focus his full attention upon Milton, who cringed slightly under his scrutiny. "Bromley you say? Who was this woman? Where is she now?"

Milton withered further under his intense stare, clearly uncomfortable with the attention her superior was suddenly showing her – junior Aurors were usually only background figures who were all but ignored by the higher-ranking members. "In interview room two s-sir, I left her only because you c-called us so-"

Theseus had started walking away before she had even finished her sentence, he had a cold, hard ball of dread clawing at his insides that he knew wouldn't be relieved until he spoke with this woman. He heard Director Graves order his Aurors to remain in the Atrium before the man was then keeping pace alongside him – his brow furrowing in an unspoken query at Theseus's suddenly tense and skittish behaviour. Theseus said nothing, merely led the way to the interview room and entered abruptly, startling the plump, strawberry-blonde haired young woman who was seated inside.

"Oh! I was starting to think that Auror lady had given up and left, I wasn't convinced that she took me seriously." The woman spoke in a slightly shaky voice that had a bitter tone running through it, her eyes red and puffy and her light hair matted with blood around her right temple.

"You were attacked by a wizard claiming to be one of Grindelwald's followers?" Theseus wasted no time on formalities or introductions and the woman looked surprised by his bluntness but was quick to respond.

"Yes, he asked me where my boss was, telling me that it was 'in the name of Gellert Grindelwald'. He then attacked me, I tried to escape… I'm not very good with duelling you see... but then he caught me, and I was knocked out. When I came back around, he was gone, but there were signs of a fight." She paused, her voice breaking slightly as tears filled her eyes. "I think he came back home – his coat was there…I think that something terrible has happened to him…"

"Are you Bunty Yeates?" Theseus asked sternly, the heavy feeling in his chest doubling as the woman nodded, confused.

"Damn it!" Theseus cried, his face reddening with rage. Graves looked at him with slight alarm at the usually prim and proper Auror's outburst.

"What is it, Scamander? What does this have to do with Grindelwald's escape?" Graves asked him, clearly impatient with being left out of the loop.

"Bunty here is my brother's assistant." Theseus sighed, his brow furrowed with worry "I think Grindelwald has gone after Newt. It is probably why he came back to London."

Realisation and consternation dawned on Grave's usually stern face, he brushed a hand back through his hair in a seemingly anxious motion. "He wants revenge for what happened in New York."

"Most likely." Theseus agreed, the dread inside his chest tightening by the second at the thought of his foolish little brother in the hands of the likes of Gellert Grindelwald. He shuddered – it didn't bear thinking about.

"I suppose we should only feel glad that he's focusing on Newt instead of perusing Credence. He can't be allowed to know of his survival yet." Graves said, and Theseus's stomach tightened further than he thought possible. Graves noticed the change in Theseus's expression instantly and his brows furrowed.

"You told Newt about Credence's survival didn't you, Auror Scamander." It wasn't really phrased as a question, but Theseus nodded anyway, guilt constricting his throat.

"Then we must focus our attention upon finding Credence and subduing the threat he represents before Grindelwald or his followers can use his powers for their own ends. We can only assume that even if Grindelwald doesn't know about Credence now, he soon will." Graves' tone was stern, but he held true regret in his brown gaze as he addressed Theseus. "I know you would wish to send your Aurors out to search for your brother, but the key to stopping Grindelwald will be to cut off all his allies and support. Finding Credence must be our priority."

Theseus knew that Graves was right, but he couldn't just abandon his brother to suffer at the hands of Grindelwald. Even his duties as an Auror didn't entirely override his sense of fraternal loyalty; poor, foolish, awkward, sweet-hearted Newt could not be allowed to be sacrificed like this.

"Director Graves, I cannot give up on my brother - surely there must be a way to divide our combined forces-"

Graves cut off Theseus with a hand that came up to brace itself on his shoulder in what he supposed was meant to be reassurance. "Believe me Scamander, I don't wish to see Newt hurt any more than you do. He is a good man who saved my life, and I owe him for that. I know better than most about the cruelty that Gellert Grindelwald can inflict upon those who oppose him." Graves' brown eyes glimmered with barely repressed emotion for a moment, before the veil of professional severity swept back over them. "But capturing Grindelwald is our priority and to do so we must erode his support. If we can do that, _then_ we can turn out attention to aiding Newt, but not before."

Theseus took a step back from Graves, moving to leave the room without replying. He could see the logic and truth in what he was saying but giving up on Newt was not something he was prepared to do. Not this time. Leaving the interview room, he nearly bumped directly into the sole female American Auror who had clearly been eavesdropping on the conversation outside the door. He opened his mouth to reprimand her, but she put a finger to her lips and pulled him by the arm further down the corridor to another empty interview room.

"What is the meaning of this, Auror?" Theseus demanded, suspicious of the Auror's shifty behaviour, one hand twitching down to his wand sheath at his side. The dark-haired woman glanced down at his movement with a roll of her coffee-coloured eyes. Theseus raised an eyebrow at her – daring her to protest.

"Your brother was sure right about you being a bit of an ass." She commented with a small chuckle and Theseus bristled further. He didn't know how Graves expected his Aurors to behave, but he sincerely doubted this was it.

"Show some respect and explain what you think you're doing, or I will ensure that your career in magical law enforcement ends very swiftly." Theseus spoke stiffly, warning clear in his tone.

"Calm down 'Head Auror' Scamander." She said but then muttered almost as if to herself "Deliverance Dane is it weird to say those two things in the same sentence…" He could tell that she was likely thinking of Newt as she said the last part.

"Anyway, I'm a friend of your brother. My name is Porpentina Goldstein and I want to help you find Newt." The name rang familiar in his memory from Newt's recounting of his escapades in New York. if he remembered correctly, she was also the same friend that had nearly been executed alongside Newt at MACUSA. He didn't remember Newt mentioning that she was quite so… pretty. Theseus hurriedly shook the thoughts clear from his head before they could take deeper roots.

"My brother has spoken of you before, Miss Goldstein, but I was under the impression that your Auror status had been revoked." She pulled a face, glancing towards the door before looking back to Theseus. He felt almost felt a tad guilty at bringing up the clearly touchy subject.

"I was re-instated after that business in New York last year, but that's not the important thing right now!" Her tone was a little exasperated. "Do you want my help? Because I'm going to find Newt whether you help me or not, I thought that as his brother, you might want to assist me."

Theseus was silent for a few moments, regarding her earnest face and deciding that he could probably trust her, and after all, he most definitely did need help. "Very well Miss Goldstein, but you will keep quiet and do exactly as I say, when I say it."

Goldstein smirked ever so slightly at him, but it was in such a way that worryingly enough reminded him of a younger Newt, though contrastingly with a twinge of something more flirtatious to it. He wasn't sure how to handle the latter part but realised that this was a clear signal if he ever saw one, that she was going to be difficult to order around. This could end very badly indeed.


	4. 4 - 'Disappointment'

**"Disappointment you shouldn't have done, you couldn't have done, you wouldn't have done… What a piteous thing, a hideous thing was tainted by the rest." – 'Disappointment' – The Cranberries**

Newt was uncertain as to how long he had been left alone, but it felt like an age. After spending fruitless minutes pulling at the metal encasing his wrists - as if sheer frustration alone could rid himself of his bonds - he finally gave it up as a lost cause for the time being. The chains weren't so much what was bothering him; it was the muzzle-like device that was strapped around his face, the metal cut into his skin and he could feel a distinct burning feeling where it made contact. He wasn't entirely sure if the scorching sensation was in his head or if the muzzle was actually burning him, but either way it was enough to cause a pit of tight, constricting anxiety to form in his chest.

Being separated from his creatures was another ache that was becoming increasingly difficult to bear. Newt could go weeks or months without interacting with other humans, but more than a few hours without his magical friends and he could feel loneliness eating away at him. When on the ship to New York, he had spent most of the month-long voyage inside his case, relying on the locked door to his specially requested private cabin to hide the magic comings and goings from prying Muggle eyes.

The case had become more of a home to him than any other place he had ever been – even Hogwarts - and his creatures were the main reason for that. He hoped that they would not be left alone too long before the friend he had sent them to, discovered them. Not only for the sakes of their survival, but also because that upon their discovery, help would likely soon follow – anyone who knew Newt knew that he wouldn't send his creatures away unless he had no other choice.

He was becoming increasingly aware of the pangs of hunger and dehydration, alongside the need to relieve himself, but he couldn't really see a solution to any of those problems, so tried his best to put them to the back of his mind. Newt wasn't sure how long Grindelwald intended to leave him here, or if he actually intended to ever return – it seemed just as likely that the wizard had decided to leave him here not rot. There was no way that Newt was ever going to agree to weaponize his creatures for the benefit of anyone – especially not Gellert Grindelwald and his insane campaign.

Surely the man was perceptive enough to realise that?

He was under no illusion that many of the beasts he had collected over the years were highly dangerous, but with the right care, precautions and temperament, the creatures could and _did_ live peacefully amongst others. The young magizoologist would never allow the rehabilitation he had achieved over a decade of care, to be undone by Grindelwald ruining their reputation in his quest for power. Newt didn't believe for one moment that Grindelwald would not allow all magical creatures to suffer and die if he thought it would in any way assist his cause.

Newt was awkwardly nudging at the device on his face with a tentative elbow when he heard the locks on the door begin to click open, the runes glowed briefly before Grindelwald stepped inside, the door closing behind him with another whirr of bolts. Grindelwald looked the same as ever, white-blonde hair slicked back, white collar turned up and dark coat impeccable. However, there was a darker edge to the thin smile he gave Newt as he slowly sauntered forward, a slight crease around his mismatched eyes that hinted to a deeper tension. Newt slowly lowered his elbow from its awkward position and eyed the section of wall somewhere below Grindelwald's left ear instead.

"I trust you have had some time to consider your position, Mr Scamander." Grindelwald's voice was laced with that nauseatingly coaxing quality again, and he stepped so close to Newt that he was forced to meet the older wizard's gaze. "I would not usually resort to such… barbaric methods as this, but I have found that sometimes the only way to ascertain the true loyalty of an individual is to put it under… rigorous testing."

Grindelwald tilted his head slightly, bringing a hand up to gently caress the metal encasing Newt's lips and cheek in such a way that the younger man felt a shudder run through him. His silver eye seemed to burn into him as he spoke in a hard tone. "There is nothing I find more disappointing than _false loyalty_."

Newt flinched once more as Grindelwald's hand wrapped around the side of his head, almost as if he were cradling it, before there was a series of clicks as the device fell away from his face – much to Newt's relief. He worked his jaw up and down for a moment, wincing as his tender skin pulled at the movement - maybe the burning sensation hadn't only been his imagination after all. Newt drew in a few shallow breaths, still uncomfortably aware of how close Grindelwald was to him, the other man had removed his grip, but was still standing near enough to make Newt feel distinctly nervous.

"Are you going to disappoint me, Mr Scamander?" Grindelwald asked in a deceptively calm tone. Newt swallowed, he knew the answer to this was most likely going to result in another angry outburst that was not going to be in any way pleasant.

Though his name remained unspoken by either of them, Newt knew that when he spoke of disappointment and loyalty, Grindelwald was speaking of Dumbledore. He may not always agree with every decision that his former teacher had made, but he was equally determined to oppose Grindelwald's fanatical crusade… even if it involved having to resort to violence. Try as he may to avoid conflict, Newt had found himself choosing a side, and that choice placed him squarely beside Dumbledore.

"I'm afraid that my answer remains the same as before, Mr Grindelwald." Newt kept his voice as soft and steady as he could, but the natural catch in his speech gave away his anxiousness. Grindelwald sighed, as though truly regretful and took a step backwards, turning to the side slightly and looking down at his wand with a furrowed brow.

Newt was taken aback when Grindelwald lunged at him, grasping his mop of gingery-blonde hair in a tight grip that wrenched his head back to connect with the wall, accompanied by a harsh cracking sound. The Elder wand was pressed against his throat and Newt fought hard to regain control of his suddenly erratic breathing, eyes flicking up to meet Grindelwald's with something close to panic.

"Are you _quite_ sure about that, boy?" Grindelwald hissed, the softer tones from before now absent.

"There is nothing you can do or say that will convince me to allow my creatures to be used to hurt people." Newt stated in as clear a voice as he could manage with the most powerful wand in existence prodding sharply into his Adam's apple.

"If you must insist on remaining loyal to Albus Dumbledore and his misguided naiveites, I shall make sure that everyone else is able to see just _who_ you decided to oppose." Grindelwald muttered harshly, and before Newt could fathom what he meant by that, Grindelwald had removed Newt's bowtie and the first few buttons of his shirt with a flick of his wand. The Elder Wand was then placed against his collarbone, the tip burning white hot as it seared into his skin.

Newt choked on his cries of pain as Grindelwald dragged the burning instrument along his flesh. He could vaguely register that the dark wizard was tracing out a pattern of some sort, but the awkward position his head was being held in prevented him from seeing what it was. His cries increased in volume the longer the wand was in contact with his skin, he could swear that it was being pressed deeper with each line, swipe and movement of Grindelwald's wrist. The wounds seemed to cut straight to his quick, infecting his very magic with the foulness of the curse-burn.

By the time Grindelwald seemed satisfied with his work, Newt was sweating and shaking violently, his wrists burning almost as much as his neck and upper chest did. He had unconsciously been pulling at his bonds in attempt to free himself from both the grip of Grindelwald and his own agony. The Elder Wand was removed from his skin at the top of his chest, presumably at the base of the formed design, which felt as though it was at least five inches in height and probably more in width.

Newt allowed his gaze to drop to the floor as Grindelwald stepped back, but the edge of the burned in outline caught his eyes and dragged them down to observe his own chest. Without even seeing the entire design, Newt recognised with a thrill of shock the symbol the Deathly Hallows.

It confused Newt that he would have been branded with the symbol that Grindelwald had claimed as his own – he had thought that it was usually only reserved for the most devoted individuals who had chosen to follow the dark wizard. He dragged his puzzled, pain strained gaze up to Grindelwald, his dishevelled hair flicking further into his eyes than usual as he did so. "W-what…w-wh-hy…?"

Grindelwald offered him a tight smile in return before speaking "This symbol was not always my own - as you are most likely aware - it was related to the tale of 'The Three Brothers' in a children's book of cautionary tales." He held up the Elder wand, causing Newt to draw back slightly, straightening his back and shoulders to stand up in a more dignified position from his previous slumped stance.

"The most powerful wand in the world, the stone that could bring back the dead and cloak that could hide a man even from death itself." Grindelwald chuckled slightly, though the darkness remained in his mismatched gaze. "The Three Brothers always struck me as a foolish attempt to scare young witches and wizards into not pursuing true power."

"W-what's your p-point?" Newt asked, not really seeing what the recounting of fairy tales had to do with the mark burned into his chest.

"My _point_ , Mr Scamander, is that while I may hold the power over all others in terms of magical prowess, I am not the master of death." His lip turned up slightly in infuriation and apparent distaste. "Albus has been aware of the locations of the other two Hallows for quite some time, but due to the…discord between us, he will not share them with me as he once would have." "The part that concerns you, is that I do not believe that mastery over death can only be achieved by one individual obtaining all three Hallows." His gaze turned unfathomable as he regarded Newt.

"I have come to realise over recent years that while the Hallows may exist in reality, the true powers they represent can be found amongst people – in only the rarest of souls." Newt frowned, still uncertain as to what Grindelwald was getting at with his vague words and speeches on belief. As if sensing his confusion, the older wizard seemed to grow impatient, as if willing Newt to understand. He approached Newt once more and pressed one long, pale finger into the centre of the burned symbol on his chest. Newt gasped in pain, eyes widening, but not shying away from Grindelwald's intensity, this seemed to satisfy the wizard slightly.

"Take you for instance; despite the power I possess and the strength of my illusion, _you_ above all else realised my true identity. I remained undetected within the heart of MACUSA for _months_ without Graves' colleagues or friends being any the wiser. But within a matter of hours, you knew what no others did. Keen instincts, intelligence and magical potential are the elements that make up a powerful wizard." Grindelwald spoke with fervour, finger pressing harder into the wounds on Newt's chest as he spoke. "But the truth behind the Hallows' power is more about _perception_. Being able to see what others cannot, realising the _truth_ of things is a desperately rare skill - even amongst the wizarding community and even more so amongst Muggles."

He withdrew his finger and Newt was slightly disgusted to see a piece of his charred skin stuck to it, Grindelwald didn't seem to notice this however, as he took a step back from Newt, almost as if trying to collect himself. "The third brother survived because he was able to remain unnoticed while he observed others - learning what there was to know, whilst evading death. The cloak may hold admirable power as a trinket by itself, but the key to longevity is awareness and insight beyond that of others."

Newt felt cold shivers rise in his skin as Grindelwald raised his hand to cup the side of Newt's face. The gesture was an off-putting attempt at familiarity that the Magizoologist wished he could move away from, but his head was already pressed against the wall and bracketed by his trapped arms. Grindelwald looked at him with an almost warm gaze that greatly unnerved Newt, unused to prolonged attention of this intensity from _anyone_ – especially not the darkest of wizards.

"I brand you with this mark, Newt, because I know you are more than you seem. Even without the allegiance you hold to Albus, I would have bestowed you with this honour." Newt's blue eyes widened so much it was almost painful at his words. "The symbol of the Deathly Hallows was not only significant to me. It was a passion that Albus and I once shared. I give you this gift immemorial for your loyalty to a man I once thought to be… _everything_ I considered desirable."

Grindelwald's eyes flickered with a sorrowful sense of regret that surprised Newt, but it only lasted a moment. "It is a gift, as well, for the loyalty I hope you will also show to me one day."

He released Newt and took several steps back to the centre of the room, the younger man feeling a hollow pit of despair widening inside his chest that he couldn't quite seem to ignore anymore. Grindelwald looked back at him again, this time with a familiar hardened look in his mismatched eyes, he raised his wand to point it in Newt's direction.

"Until I can be sure of your true loyalty however, I will have to convince you using more radical methods." There was that glimmer of emotion again, before the silver in his eye solidified once more. "I apologise for this, Newt."

" _Crucio_!"


	5. 5 - 'Minute of Decay'

**"I've been to black and back, I've whited out my name, A lack of pain, a lack of hope, A lack of anything to say." – 'Minute of Decay' – Marilyn Manson**

Newt would have thought that over time, he would have built up an immunity to the levels of agony that the _Cruciatus_ curse inflicted upon him. He was wrong. The most unfortunate part of the curse was that it simply caused the most unimaginable suffering - the more it was used, the higher the intensity of pain. As his tolerance levels rose, so did the amount of torment he was being assaulted with. His wrists had long since been shredded by the chains due his frantic, uncontrollable writhing.

He had lost track of the passage of time long ago, only aware of the agony and the sweet moments of relief between each bout. Grindelwald had initially seemed to be impassive to his struggles, but Newt had lost the ability to focus his eyes on anything, so he wasn't sure how Newt's stubbornness was now affecting him.

Grindelwald had only stopped the curses long enough to ask him where his loyalties lay, before the pain would begin again. Newt had not answered verbally the last few times, but his watery-eyed glares had seemed to tell the other wizard what his answer would have been, had his throat not been red raw from his prolonged screaming.

Eventually, Grindelwald seemed to realise that Newt was no longer responding to the treatment, as his gaze was unfocussed and wandered aimlessly around the room in the short reprieves he was given. Newt was thoroughly relieved that the assault had finally, _finally_ stopped, if even only for a little while.

He shakily attempted to push his feet up under him from where he had mostly just been hanging from his sore arms. His legs wouldn't not obey his instructions however, and simply gave out entirely, leaving Newt gasping at the additional pressure on his injured wrists. He was aware that his face was wet from his own tears, he could feel the saltiness stinging the burn marks on his nose, mouth and cheeks, but could not reach to wipe them away.

He was surprised when Grindelwald reached forward and touched each of the chains, releasing them and allowing Newt to sink to his knees on the cool stone floor. The young Magizoologist drew his arms down slowly, biting back a cry as his tender muscles protested the abrupt change in position. He was shivering, though he didn't really know why, and turned his watery gaze up towards Grindelwald's own piercing one. The elder wizard looked back down at him with slightly raised eyebrows, as though he was astounded Newt had lasted as long as he had.

"You should feel proud, Newt" Grindelwald stated in that unexpectedly soft tone of his. "There are not many who could have endured what you just did."

Newt licked his dry lips, swallowing what little moisture was left in his body. He opened his mouth to speak, before simply closing it again - unsure of how to respond to the falsely kind words. It made him uncomfortable that Grindelwald had switched to using his first name; unsure of what the implied familiarity meant. These brief moments of emotion and soft tones were disorientating to say the least, Newt was uncertain of how to respond to them.

He supposed that he should have tried to use his new-found freedom to try to overpower Grindelwald, but even without Newt's peaceful nature, he knew that attacking a man who held the most powerful wand in existence, in his state, was a terrible idea. So, he instead stretched his legs out awkwardly in front of himself, knees slightly bent, and slid his back down against the wall. Newt looked up at Grindelwald with as much determination as he could muster through his half-closed eyelids.

He cautiously swiped his sleeve against his damp face, hissing slightly as he irritated the tender skin there, but still feeling the need to not appear any weaker in front of Grindelwald than he had to. Than he already _did_ … it was difficult to not appear weak when in utter agony, slumped at the feet of one of the most powerful wizards to ever walk the earth, but Newt gave it a good go.

Grindelwald continued to eye him with something akin to bemusement, he lifted his wand – Newt flinching instinctively – and conjured a goblet into one hand, then filled it with water from the tip of his wand. He bent down and placed it on the floor in front of Newt, who eyed it with suspicion for a moment, before he leant forward to grip the goblet with both of his shaky hands.

He could still feel Grindelwald staring at him as he brought the cup to his lips, the attention made him apprehensive, so he lowered the goblet, eying both it and Grindelwald critically. The water didn't look or smell different to any other water he had seen before, but the intent gaze that Grindelwald had him fixed with was unnerving.

"It's not my intention to poison you, if I wanted you dead, do you not think there would be a multitude of other ways in which I could do it?" Grindelwald spoke with what Newt supposed was meant to be an encouraging smile, but as before, the look didn't quite reach his eyes.

He swallowed again before replying in a cracked, pain strained voice, aiming a level stare at the other wizard "J-just b-because it might-t not k-kill me…does not-t mean its s-safe."

"I suppose that you would have more experience than most with dangerous substances wouldn't you, Mr Scamander." The words were phrased more as a statement, but Newt tilted his head slightly in confirmation anyway. His work with magical beasts had resulted in poisonings and injuries more times than he cared to count; it was only with quick thinking on his part and help from a few contacts, that he was alive today. Grindelwald sighed and turned to the door, flicking his wand to release the bolts and charms holding it locked.

Newt relaxed slightly as he saw the man going to leave, before a sharp ring shot through his head at such a volume that Newt clapped his hands to his ears in a vain attempt to silence the ear-splitting noise. He glanced up at Grindelwald, expecting the sudden pain to be another form of punishment, but was shocked to see the dark wizard's confused eyes looking back at him. Whatever this was, Newt had the feeling that it wasn't Grindelwald's doing.

The ringing grew louder and more insistent until he was doubled over with his hands clutching the sides of his head, fingers curling tightly through his hair and tugging harshly - as if the physical pain would somehow lessen the suffering inside of his skull. He could feel something inside of his mind, piercing at the edges of his psyche with sharp fingers that felt like nails in his brain. He was dimly aware of Grindelwald crouching down in front of him, a hand on his shoulder, but Newt couldn't focus enough to move away.

Eventually, he had had enough and screamed inside his head for the feeling to _stop_. There was a moment or so of blank sensation that contrasted so greatly with the previous noise, that Newt was temporarily concerned he had gone deaf.

That was when the presence returned, but softer this time – he could feel the hesitance of the entity in his head instead of piercing agony. He heard a voice, just as hesitant, sound inside his mind. _"…Newt?"_

The American accented voice was shockingly familiar – it was that of Queenie Goldstein. He reeled internally, but calmed down a bit at the same time, _somehow_ she was using her Legilimens' powers to contact him. That must mean that she and Tina were aware of his capture, or at least that he was missing. The thought gave him hope and he lowered his mental defences to allow her into his mind.

This time when she spoke, her voice was clear, less echoey and piercing than before. _"Newt! I've been trying to contact you for hours! We're trying to find you! Where are you?"_

Newt focussed as hard as he could and thought back _"I don't know where I am. I'm with Grindelwald. I don't think he wants me dead, but I would really rather appreciate a bit of help right about now… it-…I-…it's not good…"_

" _Oh Newt, just hang on in there sweetie, just-"_ Queenie's soothing tones were cut off with a different sharp pain splitting through Newt's skull that had him crying out as he fell to the side. He landed sprawled out on his side, panting and confused as he looked up in confusion at Grindelwald whose face was stormy with rage.

" _A Legilimens_!" Grindelwald hissed, his face contorted as he stared down at Newt, who shrank back slightly, his mind feeling oddly empty. "I should have expected that you would have associates with equally impressive talents as your own, but I'm afraid that this complicates matters."

"Mr Grindelwald… I can't-… I- … don't… _Please_ don't hurt my friends." His stuttering, hesitant voice broke slightly as he forced himself to plead for the lives of his human friends. He hadn't wanted to show any signs of weakness, but the thought of any of his friends being hurt while trying to help him did not bear thinking of.

He was unused to others fighting on his behalf, even his own brother had long ago seemed to have given up on him, but now he knew that Tina and Queenie were out there looking for him, he felt a fragile warmth rise in his chest. The kind of feeling that was comforting, but one he knew left him more vulnerable because of it.

Grindelwald looked at him with unfathomable eyes for several moments, before he sighed and withdrew his wand once more. "I will not harm your friends, Newt. I have told you before that I admire loyalty and your friend has demonstrated a clear dedication by expending this much power on your behalf." His pale brows furrowed as he raised the Elder Wand to point it at the younger man. "However, I cannot allow for you to leave until I have convinced you of the truth."

With a flick of the wrist, Newt was flipped onto his back and Grindelwald was knelt beside him, the Elder Wand coming to move Newt's unruly hair away from his forehead, before pressing into the skin of his temple. " _Siquidem Animo_."

Newt jerked slightly in response to the spell, a heavy feeling lowering itself onto his mind, like a smothering blanket that kept the edges of his awareness dull and closed off. The hollow feeling from before was gone now, but the weight that had replaced it made him feel so unsettled that he lurched up and vomited over the stone floor beside him. Fortunately, the sick did not go anywhere near Grindelwald – Newt could not imagine that the man would have appreciated his immaculate clothing being ruined very much.

He reached a shaky hand up to his mouth, wiping it as he collapsed slightly back to lean against the wall – away from Grindelwald and the pile of sick. He felt the absurd need to apologise for the mess but caught the words on the edge of his tongue before they could escape his lips, instead averting his gaze away to stare at the floor in front of him.

Newt let his swollen eyes fall shut and laid his head back against the cool stone of the wall, taking deep breaths and slowly accustoming himself to unsettling weight in his head, alongside the constant thrum of pain running through limbs. He was too exhausted to even be startled when he felt the chains slither their way back around his wrists, pulling them gently into his lap to be bound together in front of him.

He was able to feel a flicker of surprise however, when a moment later the cool rim of a goblet was pressed to his dry lips. He cracked his eyes open to see Grindelwald crouched in front of him, the cup from earlier held in one hand as he tilted Newt's chin up gently with the other to tip the water into his mouth. Newt choked slightly as the water ran through his parted lips, not wanting to submit to the other, but then his burning thirst overrode his sense and he swallowed. Once the goblet was empty, Grindelwald, having let him drink with astonishing patience and care, placed the cup aside and stood, brushing his knees down slightly while regarding Newt.

"I have other matters that require my attention for the time being...You should get some rest Newt." Grindelwald left the room with the customary click, glow and whirr of the locks setting back into place. Newt was too tired to even think about using his relative freedom to explore his cell for a way to escape.

He allowed his tired eyes to slip closed one more – embracing the heavy, suffocating warmth that had enveloped his strained, abused mind.


	6. 6 - 'Break my Mind'

**"Break, break, break my mind, break it till the tale unwinds, force my thoughts through hell and back, or leave me alone tonight!" – 'Break my Mind' – DA Games**

Queenie sat upon the only armchair in Newt's house that was still intact, she was shaking, and her head was throbbing with the strain of the magic she had just used. Tina had come to London as soon as she had heard of Grindelwald's escape and subsequent return to England, when Queenie had then received a panicked message from her sister, she had soon followed. Both cared enough about their British Magizoologist friend to come to his aid - not to mention Tina's Auror work was largely cantered upon finding Grindelwald.

Tina had contacted Queenie for help with locating Newt, trusting that her Legilimens powers would be enough to have a better shot at finding him. For Queenie, there had then been a flurry of travelling, awkward introductions and headaches as she came to London. Brits were terribly difficult to read for her at the best of times and being surrounded by hundreds all at once had been decidedly overwhelming. She had had to block off the minds of everyone else while travelling to the British Ministry of Magic in order to avoid having a public breakdown.

Meeting Theseus Scamander had explained a lot about Newt's self-inflicted isolation; the man was weird for her to read even by Brit standards. His thoughts were a clear-cut series of regulations, rules and highly opinionated ideas that left Queenie giggling slightly when she had first met him.

He was possibly one of the more boring men she had ever met, but what amused her more was the fact that he had developed a small crush on Tina in the few hours he had known her. He seemed to admire her level-headedness, ambition, courage and was intrigued by her slightly rebellious streak. From his memories, Queenie gleaned that he was very similar in those aspects – he had broken and bent his beloved rules in past for the sake of his brother, and when he thought the Ministry was going about a situation wrong. He had a solid vein of morals that cut through the similarly strong pompousness.

From her explorations inside both his and Newt's minds, she knew that Theseus was engaged to Leta Lestrange – Newt's childhood sweetheart. It seemed that they both shared a common taste when it came to women. It was almost comical to see the effect that her dull as dishwater, though kind-hearted, sister had on the Scamander brothers. Though Newt had a different… _preference_ …. entirely unlaying the his more cognizant desires. One that he never really acknowledged to himself and that she would not have the courage to ever mention, not with the… common opinions on such things.

While she felt bad for finding amusement in Theseus' implied thoughts of infidelity, she also felt a slight hope that the two brothers might just solve their differences over Leta… with a little nudge in the right direction of course. Queenie had always enjoyed a good challenge – the case of her sister and Theseus Scamander seemed to present a decent enough one.

Pushing those thoughts to the back of her overcrowded mind, Queenie instead relayed the events she had witnessed to her sister and Theseus, who had been waiting for hours for her verdict on Newt. She had felt both of their gazes and thoughts on her while she attempted to contact Newt - Tina's in worry and Theseus's in impatience. The man certainly did have a short fuse on him - particularly when his brother was involved.

It had taken a very long time before she had felt Newt's mental presence, she had had to focus as hard as she could with some help from various herbs, a little magic and physical contact with an object belonging to Newt. His old blue coat had been resting on a table nearby, so she had placed it on her lap, holding it in thin fingers, closing her eyes and taking deep, soothing breaths.

The contact had not only taken so long because of the assumed distance involved, but due to the harsh, overbearing presence that overshadowed Newt's own spark of light. She had only once tried to contact another mind in a two-way system, and that had been with the help of her professor at Ilvermorny; a kindly older man who had had previous experience with tutoring a Legilimens.

Once established however, it had taken Newt practically screaming inside his own head for her realise that she was causing him pain from the attempted connection. Oops. Newt's thoughts had been flooded with agony and she had seen glimpses and flashes of what he had had to endure, but only the emotions behind the sufferings.

For some reason she couldn't quite see anything in the man's mind – only feel. Queenie had tried to calm him and let him know that he wasn't alone; she could feel the pangs of loneliness he experienced from being separated from his creatures. But then the sudden break of the mental connection had resulted with a throbbing headache and left her dizzy and vague for some time afterwards.

When she came back to herself, sitting in the armchair, it finally clicked in her head. The reason why Newt had been so difficult to find. The reason why when she had contacted him, she had initially been too overzealous with the power she put into talking to him. Newt must be much closer than they had thought.

He was in London.

The thought seemed to bolster both Theseus and Tina slightly when she told them, but also left the three of them confused. Why would Grindelwald keep Newt in a place where there were a multitude of Ministry allies within such a short distance? Was he so confident of his powers that he thought no one could oppose him? Or was there another reason?

Queenie stood up, swaying slightly, her head feeling light and oddly tight at the same time – she hadn't tried anything like this in quite some time. Tina's thoughts were tinged with concern for both her sister and Newt, her brow furrowed in worry as she reached forward to steady Queenie, who smiled at the familiar contact.

"So, he's somewhere in London… you're quite sure about that?" Theseus said slowly, his tone implying scepticism and his thoughts mirroring the same – from what Queenie could gather of him, he did not hold much stock in Legilimens abilities, having never encountered one before.

Tina and Queenie exchanged a roll of eyes, both exasperated at his distrustful nature. "Yes, Mr Scamander." Queenie replied in a placating tone, subsequently feeling a little strange at calling the man by the same title as she had his dorky, sweet younger brother. The name didn't feel as though it fit both men at all.

"And you can't tell me exactly where?" He asked, neat blonde brows raised in query.

"It doesn't work that way honey." Queenie told him "I see what I see and this... long range communication isn't exactly my speciality. I just know that he was near enough for me to nearly fry his brain when I used too much magic." At the outraged look upon Theseus' face, she hastily added. "He's okay though! …. well apart from the whole torture thing… I mean um-"

Tina quickly stepped in before Theseus' reddening face could explode and took control of the conversation with her usual practical nature. "What's important right now is we at least have a place to start looking for him, it shouldn't take too much longer."

Theseus turned his flustered, sceptical gaze onto Tina, his voice was slow when he spoke, as if he was trying to explain something very simple to a toddler. "Do you have any idea how vast London actually is Miss Goldstein? I am aware that it isn't quite as large as New York, but there are thousands of places that he could be being held right now. There are over two hundred and thirty magically concealed locations in this area alone! Do you really think-"

It was Queenie who intervened this time, shushing a scandalised Theseus with a wave of her slim hand. "I know that you're worried about Newt, but just remember that we all care about him as well."

Tina nodded, eying Theseus with slight annoyance, though her thoughts reflected something else entirely that made Queenie's lips pull up in a slight smirk. Her sister had always had a thing for men with more… dominant, passionate personalities. Like her boss, Mr Graves, although that had been several years ago now. Theseus' little rant, combined with the fact he had been squaring up to Tina while he was speaking, was causing her heart to flutter and her pulse to race. The two were standing in front of each other, as if both were trying to assert their professional Auror presence over the other. It was kind of funny to watch.

Tina's voice was steady as she fixed Theseus with her stern brown eyes. "You also may be right that London is a big place to search, but surely you of all people know of some places that a dark wizard might keep someone prisoner?"

Theseus took several deep, seemingly calming breaths before he replied, un-squaring his shoulders as he stepped back from her. Queenie was pleased to see that, inside his mind, the Auror was aware of his anger issues, and was trying to work on them. Maybe there was some hope for him after all. "You are right of course, Miss Goldstein… I apologise." He sighed before continuing. "I may well have some ideas as to where we might look, if you would follow me?"

Tina nodded stiffly, and both headed for the door to Newt's house, not being able to apparate from inside due to the protection spells placed all over it. One way they were fairly sure that Newt was still alive was that his charms were still in place - only very powerful individuals could he spells even after death.

Tina took a double take however as she remembered Queenie's presence, turning to her with indecision clear in her gaze. The Legilimens could sense the conflict in her sister's mind clear as day – she didn't want to leave Queenie on her own in a new city, but also didn't want her in danger.

Queenie sighed, knowing that Tina was right about the danger – she wasn't an Auror and had trouble in large groups of new people due to her abilities. But she also knew she could be very useful when questioning people who might know where Grindelwald was.

"You know I can help Teenie." She stated simply and smiled as the argument deflated in her mind as Queenie watched. Her sister knew she was right and so nodded. Once outside the front door, Tina reluctantly took Theseus's proffered hand and then Queenie took Tina's other.

All three of them disappeared in a loud crack.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Grindelwald had returned to the cell about an hour ago from what Newt could gather, but he couldn't be sure as his sense of time was severely diminished in this windowless, isolated cell. Newt had managed to sleep for a little while, though how long - again he couldn't tell - it hadn't felt like anywhere near enough, however.

He had been woken to yet another bout of pain crackling along his skin, though this time had been different from the previous magically induced sufferings. No, this time, Grindelwald had resorted to using the same blue bolts of energy that he had used in the tunnels in New York – back when he had been trying to keep up a charade of sanity.

Newt supposed - vague as the thought was through the pain - that it made sense that the dark wizard would want to shake up his methods a bit, after the previous attacks had not broken him. He was confused, though definitely relieved, that Grindelwald had not yet resorted to using the _Imperius_ curse upon him. Surely it was a better alternative to getting what he wanted than wasting all this time on trying to break Newt... wasn't it?

Without realising it, Newt had apparently voiced his thoughts, not being conscious of his words as the magical shocks caused his body, nerves and mind to spasm, shiver and contract in vicious patterns. He only became aware of this when Grindelwald halted the attack, allowing Newt to relax slightly once more. His body was still shivering with the aftershocks but feeling decidedly more stable – as though he was no longer going to shake himself apart with the movements.

"The only way to ensure your true loyalty is through persuasion and truth. Pain is honest. I refuse to use mental manipulations and curses to control you, Newt." There was that silver-tongued earnestness in his voice again; the thread of honesty that willed Newt to believe him. Newt ignored it.

He knew there must be another reason for the man to not be using the Imperius curse, though he couldn't quite figure out what it was. For the time being, he simply levelled a weak glare in the other wizard's general direction, trying to avoid any more contact with those treacherous, hypnotic eyes than was strictly necessary.

"I realise that I may have been going about this the wrong way however." Grindelwald commented, a pondering look upon his face that set Newt's teeth on edge – this probably wouldn't mean anything good.

His awkward nature broke through his pain-hazed mind and he raised a sceptical eyebrow at Grindelwald with a quirk of his lips. "I-is there a r-right way to go about torture that I wasn't a-aware of-f?"

Not for the first time, Newt saw the slightly delighted look flicker across Grindelwald's face; as if he was almost impressed by Newt's dry sense of humour and pluck. The moment passed away quickly, as it had before, and the blank mask flowed back into place. "Instead of simply demanding your loyalty, I might take a leaf out of an old friend's book." He slowly crouched down in front of Newt as he spoke, a slightly softer look in his eyes than before, despite how much Newt tried to avert his own gaze.

"You think you know enough about me to make your decisions with a clear conscience, but as I have previously acknowledged, you recognised me before all others. And even after you figured out who I was, you attempted to shield me from Credence's wrath in the tunnels." His stare was piercing Newt so intensely that the younger wizard's blue eyes were drawn up to meet his involuntarily. "Why was that Newt? What did you see that drew you in? To discover the truth? To protect someone, you claim to think of as, being evil?"

"I-…. I…it was the what you said in MACUSA… when you were q-questioning me." Newt stumbled over his words, feeling compelled to answer honestly, lest the other wizard mistake his recognition for something else. For fear that he thought Newt had been taken in by the man's notorious magnetism. "What you said about the Obscurus being… ' _useless_ '…. That pieced together with your… interest in my association with Dumbledore… I didn't want to let Credence live with the guilt of killing again… even someone like you…"

"Is that all?" Grindelwald's silvery eye prompted him to continue, which he did - almost without Newt meaning to. For a moment he was concerned that the dark wizard had used non-verbal magic to compel his answers. But Newt thought he had had enough experience with magical mental manipulation to know that his mind was clear of any other's presence or influence.

"I…recognised some of your… m-mannerisms, like your choice of words and… uh f-facial movements…" Newt flushed slightly as Grindelwald's intense gaze turned confused, but also worryingly expectant.

"And how did you do that?" The silver in Grindelwald's eye was burning Newt now, he was sweating and squirming under such prolonged scrutiny, the answer mumbled out before he could think twice about it.

"Dumbledore… he… he showed m-me some of his memories of … you… he wanted me to be prepared… just in case I ever got involved-… he wanted me to… t-to use my… s-skills as an observer of living t-things." Newt tried to avert his gaze, to fix it upon the floor as he spoke, but found himself unable to do so, he could feel something captivating him… something dark. Maybe he had been wrong about the non-verbal magic after all...or was this the charismatic power that Grindelwald held? His brain was slightly foggy, and he couldn't think straight because of it.

Grindelwald's gaze had turned to something close to wonder induced fury by this point. He slammed a slightly shaking hand into the wall beside Newt's head, causing him to flinch at the sudden action. The elder wizard hissed in a tone that sent shivers down Newt's spine at the venom laced in it. "I may have underestimated just how much faith Albus has laid in you, Newt. I had thought he was above sharing such… personal memories with his new _protégé_. But apparently I was _sorely mistaken_."

There was definite pain in his voice, and Newt felt heat in his face, unsure of how much worse this situation could get. That was the moment Grindelwald chose to stand abruptly and flick his wand in a violent pattern at Newt. He was dragged up to float in mid-air, his bonds broken as his arms and legs were splayed wide by Grindelwald's fury.

He hung there for a few moments before each limb was jerked harshly in the wrong direction with a series of sickening, resounding _cracks_. Newt screams were so harsh and drawn out that he couldn't even hear the snapping sounds, he could only go limp in the invisible bindings, his whole body quickly descending into a level of suffering induced shock like it had seldom before experienced.

With a sneer that Newt did not see through his hazy, tear filled blue eyes and pain-shattered mind, Grindelwald released him to crumple in a pile of broken limbs on the cold floor. Like a puppet with its strings cut.

Newt was unconscious before he even hit the stones.

 **A/N** \- **Hi everyone! I'm so sorry about the delays, but I've been having an eventful few days that resulted in hospital…but it's all good now. Thank you to my amazingly kind, helpful and loyal reviewers! Including the new ones from Baltysounours, Hannah and PrinceJai.**

 **I will try to not delay as much in future … promise!**


	7. 7 - 'The Black Rider'

**"Come on along with the Black Rider, we'll have a gay old time, lay down in the web of the black spider, I'll drink your blood like wine." – 'The Black Rider' – Tom Waits**

Theseus could think of too many places to count that a dark wizard might choose to hide within London, but as Auror Goldstein had so bluntly pointed out to him, they at least had a place to start. He was grateful to the Legilimens girl for her assistance in narrowing down the places where Newt could be – the vague area of London was a better guide than nothing at all. He wished that he could enlist the help of his own department in this, but Graves had made it quite clear that he wasn't going to allow anything other than Grindelwald's recapture be his priority.

He conceded that the other Head-Auror was right, and so had relinquished temporary control over to the delegates from MACUSA, though he had first pulled aside his Aurors to remind them to stay on guard around the Americans. Who knew how many leaks and weak spots MACUSA could have inside it after this whole fiasco began?

The sixth place that he took the Goldstein sisters to, was a seedy, crime ridden underground club that the Auror department was well aware of, but the location was changed so often that they hadn't yet been able to shut it down. No matter how much Theseus hated the fact, he knew that this was likely a good place to continue their search for Grindelwald supporters. The club was frequented and run by criminal pureblood family members from all around England and Europe, so as such proved a 'safe haven' for those who followed Grindelwald's warped philosophies.

Any followers they encountered might be able to point them to his inner circle, who in turn might know where Grindelwald could be. It was a long shot, but he had exhausted the first half a dozen other places he had thought of - all of them long having been abandoned, raided, unhelpful or destroyed.

The two sisters had been surprisingly helpful in his searches and had made insightful comments regarding any evidence they may have found. Though none were necessarily relevant to the task at hand - he had the feeling that Auror Goldstein may have solved a two-month-old case surrounding the mysterious burning down of one of the bars. She had pointed out the remnants of shattered glass, that hinted at the idea of a mis-brewed potion being responsible for the flames. Theseus had to admit that he was impressed with her attention to detail, but if he found himself admiring her in other ways as she moved around the streets of London, he pushed those thoughts to the back of his weary mind.

From their vantage point in the alleyway opposite the club, the trio saw that a group of robed individuals had just entered the bar ahead of them. After having a brief conversation with the burly, pinstripe suit-clad wizard that was standing there, they had been ushered in and the metal door had been closed with a resounding clunk behind them. That seemed to be the only way in.

They drew level with the mouth of the alley opposite the club – oddly known as _'The Black Rider'_ \- no one was quite sure why, but questioning the name usually resulted in fights and/or raucous laughter. At least that was what the Aurors he had sent in previously had unhelpfully reported back to him - the most recent one had been smoking slightly from an unnoticed flame on the back of his robes at the time.

Behind him, he heard the younger Goldstein – Queenie, if he wasn't mistaken – giggle. He turned his head fractionally to see her attempting to stifle her laughter with one pink gloved hand, as her elder sister fixed her with a reproaching look. Unlike the previous dozen or more times something like this had happened since they began their search the night before, Theseus decided to question what the young woman was finding quite so amusing this time.

He was just opening his mouth to voice his query when Queenie waved a dismissive hand at him and offered an apologetic smirk. "Oh, I'm sorry honey, I just couldn't help but overhear that funny little story about your Auror friend and the fire-breathing chicken!"

Theseus raised an irritated eyebrow at her before responding in a clipped, though slightly amused tone. "I would greatly appreciate if you would keep out of my head please, Miss Goldstein."

"Just call me Queenie – everybody does!" she chirruped, not for the first time that day. "And I don't mean to, but sometimes I just can't control it." Theseus couldn't help but wish that the bubbly blonde witch was more like her level-headed, strong willed elder sister…. Although come to think of it, that would be too much to handle. He also couldn't help but notice Tina's gaze that was currently piercing the side of his face, he shifted slightly, feeling heat rise in his cheeks.

Queenie's smirk widened wickedly for a moment "Especially when your thoughts are quite so _loud_."

" _Anyway_." Tina interrupted quickly, Theseus nodded gratefully as he instead turned his attention towards his fellow Auror. "What's our tactic here, sir?"

"We should employ caution and subtlety; the club's patrons are exceedingly aware of the Ministry's stance on establishments such as this and will apparate the minute they smell an Auror." He eyed his own neat grey suit for a moment before waving his wand and turned it black instead – that should do, he supposed. He looked up to see both Tina and Queenie regarding him with matching sceptical expressions and he shifted uncomfortably on the spot.

"What?" he asked, glancing down at himself again, despite how much time he spent around criminals in his line of work, he had very little idea as to what would pass for acceptable. In all truth, he spent more of his time examining the clothing styles of other Ministry men in order to emulate their professional get ups.

"It's still too 'Mr Posh British Auror guy' for me." Queenie commented, chewing on her thumb slightly and turning to her sister. "What do you think Teenie?"

"I don't really know…" Tina began, but trailed off as Queenie waved her wand in a series of elaborate circles around the three of them. There was a miniature snow-storm of colour, shimmers and material before the air settled once more.

Theseus looked down at himself and gaped in something very close to horror. He was now clad neck to toe in black leather. A leather trench coat, trousers, boots and waistcoat were now wrapped – impractically tightly he might add – around his body. There were even chains hanging from his sleeves for heaven's sake!

Theseus looked over to Tina and saw that her own leather coat was now open to reveal a form fitting blood red silk dress that slit up the side of her left thigh, in turn showing off knee high leather boots. He averted his gaze very deliberately from all the exposed skin and fixed it instead upon her face. No help there either, as it was now framed by a mess of unruly ebony curls that seemed to highlight the chocolate brown elements in her eyes. Bugger it all.

Queenie was looking decidedly pleased with herself, dressed almost equally as outrageously as her sister, though perhaps it was a little less… revealing around the leg area. He levelled an unimpressed glare at the younger Goldstein, surprised to find that Tina was doing the exact same thing.

"Mercy Lewis!" Tina hissed at her sister "Couldn't you have at least _tried_ to be a little subtler maybe?"

"Oh, stop complaining you two, and let's get on with this." Queenie exclaimed and bustled off down the alley, turned the corner and headed in a beeline for the door guard. Theseus forced himself to ignore his currently ridiculous state of dress and followed after Queenie, seeing Tina hurry to stay at his side out of the corner of his eye.

Theseus couldn't help but think that in that red silk dress, she looked a bit like a plainer version of Leta – god help him, he was _engaged_ very much in love. He shouldn't be noticing this sort of thing. He should be focussing on finding his little brother. The thought of what Newt could be going through right now while he was ogling his brother's friend sobered up his wandering thoughts very quickly indeed.

The brief summary Queenie had given them back at Newt's house had been decidedly bleak, though she seemed to have deliberately left out any specific details that might have upset her sister. Tina and Queenie seemed to care quite a bit for Newt, which was a relief for Theseus, as he had always worried for his brother's lack of social skills and friends.

Snapping his usually diligent mind back to the matter at hand, he watched in some bemusement as Queenie approached the door guard with surprising confidence. "Hello there!"

"Haven't seen any of you round here before." The guard commented with a frown, one hand coming up to wipe at his red nose, the cold weather affecting him and obviously not making him any happier for being outside. Queenie gazed at the man intently, and Tina looked to be stifling a slight smirk as the man shifted uncomfortable under the gaze.

"Haven't been back since the last place got busted by those idiots from the Ministry a couple of months ago." Queenie said with a convincing grimace and Tina and Theseus nodded awkwardly in agreement. "Thought it would be best to lay low for a while."

"A lot have been doing the same, my cousin – the guy before me - got arrested by those Auror bastards, Terry got me this job in the first place." Queenie made a show of nodding sympathetically, before the guard seemed to come out of a reverie and cleared his throat gruffly – suddenly back to business. "Anyway, what's the word?"

The two Aurors gripped their wands in their pockets at this, concerned that their façade was about to fall apart at any moment, before Queenie dashed their fears by levelling an unexpectedly solemn expression at the guard. "For the greater good. For the good of us all."

The guard nodded and tapped his wand on the door, stepping to the side to let them past, Theseus keeping his head down as he passed the man – unsure of what he would do if the man questioned his presence. He hadn't ever really done any undercover work in dens of debauchery such as this, so wasn't sure if he could keep in his temper or moral outrage should he be tested in any way.

 _The Black Rider_ was filled with an astounding amount of people; packed around tables and booths of various sizes, multicoloured smoke issuing from some of them – the source likely being hookah pipes. The bar area was not quite as crowded, so the trio made their way over to where a young bartender stood, wiping down glasses and scowling around. It was an expression that hinted at no particular reason for the mood – just a generally annoyed personality.

"What now?" Tina asked him quietly, while Queenie began cheerily speaking with the surly barman; apparently ordering them drinks. Theseus glanced around and quickly steered Tina to a nearby free booth in a corner. A few people gave them a curious look as they sat down nearby, but soon went back to their own drinks and conversations. As much as he hated to admit it, Queenie's idea of a disguise seemed to have worked, at least for now.

"We need to find someone who is or knows a follower of Grindelwald, and hopefully from there we can find where he might be holding Newt...someone's got to know where he is." He spoke quietly, and Tina nodded slightly with a sceptical expression on her face.

"Is that all the plan you've got?" Theseus turned his full attention to her and saw the worry in her brown eyes, she was concerned that they wouldn't find Newt in time to help him - just like Theseus himself was. She apparently hadn't meant to be quite so blunt with him, if the slightly self-conscious expression on her face was anything to go by.

"I'm not even sure if it's a good idea for me to be here, I recognise half of the people in here from wanted posters and previous arrests… but it's one of the best ideas I've got." Theseus diverted his gaze to look down at his fingers, which were tapping restlessly on the scarred table top in front of him. He jumped a bit when Tina's smaller, softer hand pressed down on top of his own, ceasing the movement instantly.

"I think you're drawing us unwanted attention." Tina muttered, moving her hand back to her own lap and flicking her eyes towards several wizards nearby who were glaring over at Theseus.

Though that was nothing compared to the reaction a shorter, smartly dressed, dark-haired man gave when he saw Tina. The man did a doubletake and jumped to his feet, pushing his chair back into a nearby patron with such force, that the man stumbled into another with a loud curse. The next few seconds after that were an incomprehensible series of loud bangs, breaking glass, flashes of light, loud swearing, and then chaos.

Theseus was decidedly unsurprised that all it would take was one guy spilling his drink for the den of criminals and disreputables to start a bar-wide fight. He sighed and drew his own wand in preparation to try to calm the conflict before it got too out of hand. Undercover be damned, he wasn't going to shirk his moral principles and let people be hurt unnecessarily. He looked around for Tina and Queenie, but couldn't find either of them, they'd both disappeared into the crowd.

Damn it!

He pressed through the throng to where he thought he saw a glimpse of red silk and dark hair, jinxing and warding as he went in an attempt to penetrate the crowd of fighting witches and wizards. Someone attempted jinx him from close quarters and he was forced to move swiftly to the side in order to avoid it, which in turn resulted in him being elbowed hard in the face by someone else. He barked out a curse as a stiff pain shot through his face, when his nose cracked sharply to the side, blood spurting down his face. He ignored it and pushed onward.

Finally, he reached the edge of the room, spotting Tina's leather coat hem whipping around a corner and through what looked to be a back exit. He followed as quickly as he could, slamming the door open and bursting out into a dirty, puddled, closed-off alleyway.

Theseus saw Tina locked in a duel with the dark-haired man from earlier – the one who had ran. She had the upper hand however, as the man was clearly lacking in duelling skills – his weak hexes were deflected easily and soon after Theseus arrived, his shield failed. The man looked ready to run again, but Theseus moved his wand in a sharp, decisive manner before he even got two steps. " _Colloshoo_!"

He juddered to a halt so abruptly that he nearly fell over, teetering on his ankles as his shoes stuck themselves to the pavement beneath him. The hex was a mostly harmless and rather amusing one that he had used on his brother many a time when they were younger. Although he would often then later regret it, when he would find that his favourite quill, or his clothes had been 'mysteriously' burned to cinders by some magical creature.

"Thanks, Mr Scamander." Tina murmured before approaching the trapped man, disarming him, with a flick of her wand and walking around to face him. Theseus followed, feeling slightly confused, but trusting that Tina must have had a good reason to pursue the man.

"What are you doing here, Goldstein? What do you want?" the man hissed, his dark eyes betraying his panic, but obviously attempting to hide it with a mask of hatred.

"I could ask you the same question, Abernathy, but I think I already know the answer to that one." Tina replied, her tone cold and clipped. Theseus stiffened slightly – so this was the Auror who betrayed MACUSA and joined Grindelwald. He was surely a solid lead!

Theseus watched on in anticipation as Tina continued "Now tell us where Grindelwald is, and we might just be able to cut your sentence down to half-life imprisonment."

 **A/N Hello again, thank you for all the support, reviews and kind words everyone! I really appreciate it and its very inspiring to see people enjoying something I've written. I'm out of hospital now and am currently on a quite a lot of pain medication, so sorry if my writing goes a bit weird all of a sudden!**

 **Basically, what happened was I made a day trip to Leeds that resulted in two dislocated toes and a screwed-up knee. So, sorry about the delays.**

 **Also, also! I am not personally a fan of Tina as a character but after meeting Theseus in 'Crimes of Grindelwald', I felt like she would be a good match for him. Sorry if the subplot with them is annoying anyone - I'll try to keep it to a minimum.**


	8. 8 - 'Coming Undone'

**"Keep holding on, when my brain's tickin' like a bomb, guess the black thoughts have come again to get me. Sweet little words unlike nothing I have heard, sing along mocking bird, you don't affect me… Wait. I'm coming undone, Irate. I'm coming undone, too late. I'm coming undone, what looks so strong, so delicate… Since I was young, I've tasted sorrow on my tongue and this sweet sugar gun does not protect me." – 'Coming Undone' – Korn**

"Newt." The voice was soft and close, but at the same time it felt like it was floating an unreachable distance away. He was oddly detached from his body, the sensation being surprisingly peaceful, not concerning as it maybe should have been, it was just…apathetic. He could sense a dormant feeling of impending devastation however, as if there was a part of him that knew this was only a temporary reprieve from something much worse.

His mind was slowly becoming more aware of the voice calling his name, he was pretty sure it was his name anyway… hard to tell such things when he was this separated from his body in such a strange way.

Along with the voice, his body was also beginning to make itself known, slowly, inch by battered inch, he could start to feel a sharp throbbing penetrating the numbness. Like pins and needles, but much worse. Newt groaned, he didn't want the peaceful feeling to go. The dread was rising in him as the throbbing became a blazing, aching anguish that was in every fibre of his being. He tried to move, to somehow escape the suffering, but as he did so, his limbs all protested vehemently in a searing chorus of agony.

With a half-choked scream, Newt's blue eyes flew open, he couldn't see anything past the black and white dots obscuring his vision at first, but after a few forcible blinks, they dissipated. He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned his still fuzzy gaze up to the source of the grip, only to attempt a violent lurch backwards as he saw that it belonged to Gellert Grindelwald. For the second time since waking, his crippled limbs made their presence known with a vengeance - he didn't even have the strength or breath to scream this time.

"I would advise against moving for a while, Newt, you'll only aggravate your injuries further." Grindelwald's voice was laced with that familiar, sickening concern. Newt glared at him through watery, half-lidded eyes, his face flushed red and scrunched in pain. If the other wizard truly wished to spare him pain, he wouldn't have inflicted it in the first place… he wouldn't have snapped Newt's limbs like twigs.

Grindelwald seemed to interpret Newt's glare correctly, as he drew his wand and waved it a few inches from the younger wizard's right leg. The Magizoologist flinched instinctively, before realising that Grindelwald had in fact cast a charm that was now _healing_ him. He let out a harsh gasp of pain as he felt the bones in his leg shift and crack, mending themselves under the guidance of Grindelwald's wand. Newt found himself sweating profusely and clenching his jaw so hard he feared that his teeth might break from the pressure, in order to keep from screaming as Grindelwald repeated the process with his left arm.

"There now, that should feel a bit better." Grindelwald murmured, stowing his wand back in the sheath at his waist. Newt was almost tempted to ask why the elder wizard had only healed his right leg and left arm, but somehow, he felt that he either wouldn't get an answer, or if he did – it wouldn't be one that would be any more reassuring than the silence.

Once again, Grindelwald demonstrated his uncanny intuition by responding to Newt's unasked question. "You haven't proven yourself very trustworthy, Mr Scamander, I can't have you running amuck, now can I?"

Newt frowned at him, _very_ gingerly using his newly healed arm to push himself into an awkward sitting position, slumping so that he was now propped up against the wall instead of the floor. When he spoke, his voice was husky and cracked into an almost unrecognisable croak. "W-what are y-you t-talking ab-bout-t?"

"We're going to be taking a little trip." Grindelwald stood slowly from his previous crouched position, looking down at Newt with an unfathomable look in his mismatched eyes, one that set Newt on edge, shifting slightly where he sat.

"You see, Mr Scamander, I have recently discovered something quite interesting indeed." He clasped his hands behind his back, continuing to assess Newt with a disturbingly keen interest.

"After you revealed that Albus had taken the liberty of showing you memories that he most likely _shouldn't_ have..." Newt could hear how his teeth grit and his tone darkened at this part, before continuing with an apparently conscious effort to remain composed "I decided to gauge precisely _what_ he had shared with you while you were erstwhile occupied."

"Unconscious you mean? And w-whatever happened to not w-wanting to m-mess with my mind?" Newt muttered under his breath, averting his gaze as Grindelwald shot a scowl at him – clearly now was not one of the times that he appreciated Newt's defiance or poorly-timed attempted at acerbic humour. He instead continued as if Newt hadn't spoken – likely due to impatience.

"And do you know what I found while digging around in that odd little mind of yours, Newt?" The aforementioned shook his head slightly, feeling tight apprehension ball in his chest at the idea that Grindelwald had been inside of his head while he had been unconscious.

Dumbledore had once attempted to teach him Occlumency, and though Newt had been a fairly apt student, he doubted that his meagre defences would have posed much of a challenge to the most powerful dark wizard of the century. Especially while he was incapacitated. Newt could probably keep out a lower powered wizard than himself if he focussed hard, but his mentor's lessons hadn't ever quite prepared him for something like this. Nothing had.

Newt had already known that Grindelwald held the incredibly rare ability of the Seer, but he hadn't been aware that Grindelwald was able to perform Legilimency; until now that was. It was a rare skill for wizards to master, unless they held in inborn ability – like Queenie had - but he supposed it made sense that Grindelwald would have made the effort to do so. His speciality was manipulation and recruitment after all. He played upon people's innermost thoughts and desires and wove his words with such promises; it made a lot of sense that his vast magical capability would have a hand in that.

"I discovered that you have been keeping secrets from me… concerning Credence Barebone." Newt felt a cold wave of dread crash over him at the mention of the Obscurus. Grindelwald now knew that he was alive. He knew roughly where he was. And it was Newt's fault. He diverted his guilt-ridden gaze to bore a hole in the dark stones below him; not wishing to meet Grindelwald's gaze and see the anger or triumph he knew would be held there.

He had inadvertently put Credence in danger – who knew the damage that Grindelwald could do if he had an Obscurial in his power. He could kill thousands, he could destroy the already fragile balance between muggles and wizards. He could start another war. And wasn't that what the man wanted?

There was likely nothing he could do or say right now that could convince Grindelwald away from his path of destruction. Newt was helpless and now, more than ever, he hated it. This was worse than the physical or magical tortures Grindelwald had inflicted upon him. The very idea that he had just unwittingly doomed wizard and muggle kind stung worse than any wound ever could.

He was startled out of his grim reverie when Grindelwald touched his shoulder in a firm grip, he jerked his head up to almost meet the other's eyes, but he couldn't quite force himself to do so. Instead he focussed upon his left ear.

"Do not despair Newt, you should be glad that you were able to contribute to the greater good. A man as perceptive as you should be able to see that I wish no harm on Credence - I only wish to help him achieve his true potential."

Grindelwald's grip on his shoulder tightened slightly as he spoke, not in a malicious way however – more like he was trying to reassure Newt. He firmly kept his stare fixed on the floor behind the man's head, he would not be taken in again – whatever trickery he had used before would not work again. He wouldn't let it, not this time; not again.

The man only said what he thought Newt wanted to hear; part of his infamous dark charisma, was that he always knew what to say to each individual in order to persuade them to his cause. He had a silver tongue and a perceptive, calculating nature. Not to mention his apparent skill with Occlumency. That was the true danger of Grindelwald – his power with words.

"You want to _use_ Credence." Newt hissed in his pain cracked, still slightly shaky voice "I d-don't know who you're trying to convince w-with this talk of wanting what's b-best for him – me or yourself – but I think we b-both know that all you want to do is to u-use him as a w-weapon against Dumbledore."

"You're mistaken, Newt, you know the truth I speak, but you are too blinded by what Albus has ingrained into you at that school of his, that you won't let yourself recognise the truth when you hear it." Grindelwald spoke fervently, that familiar fire burning in his silver eye, but Newt ignored it and instead focussed his shattered attention upon a spot somewhere on the lower left-hand side of his face.

"Stop making the mistake of thinking that Albus Dumbledore directs my every thought and action!" Newt finally snapped, his voice turning sharp as he worked himself up onto to his one good leg with much difficulty, but managing to keep his foot under him, nonetheless. "I don't need to have someone else _convince_ me of the value of every life on this earth, any being with a conscience could see that what you are doing is _wrong_."

He took a limping, painful step towards Grindelwald, his good hand clenched in a shaking fist, while the other hung limply at his side. "I don't care how much you try to tell me how 'misguided' my beliefs are. I don't care what you offer me. I don't care how much you _torture_ me. I refuse to use my affinity with magical creatures to help you slaughter innocent people." Newt finally met Grindelwald's now astonished gaze head on. "I don't care if I'm ' _useful_ ' to you or not, so now that you've already invaded my mind and satisfied your petty need for revenge, you may as well leave me here to rot."

Grindelwald's mismatched gaze turned softer as Newt spoke, a twisted form of elation flashing in his eyes, but worryingly it didn't seem to just be from what he was hearing. There was a gleam behind his dark blue eye that hadn't been there before. "But you _are_ still useful to me, Newt, maybe not for the moment in quite the way I had initially hoped…but I have foreseen a more immediate purpose for you."

Newt only had a moment to consider what Grindelwald meant by that before the elder wizard withdrew his wand again and flicked it in a sharp pattern at him. The silvery chains he had used before flashed up from their previously broken pile on the floor and wrapped themselves forcefully around Newt's body. He cried out in pain as his broken arm was pinned harshly to his side, the chains binding him securely from shoulders to hips, tightening just enough to uncomfortably restrict his breathing.

Newt just barely managed to stay standing on his one stable leg but was dismayed when the metal muzzle Grindelwald had used on him previously, reappeared and secured itself painfully onto his face once more. He released a muffled howl as the metal burned into already tender skin, but it was short lived as Grindelwald grabbed him by his uninjured arm and gave Newt a thin smile. "Paris awaits, Mr Scamander."

There was a crack and the cell was suddenly empty.


	9. 9 - 'All these things I've done'

**"Over and in, last call for sin, while everyone's lost, the battle is won, with all these things that I've done." – 'All these things that I've done' – The Killers**

Abernathy had taken numerous stinging and tempest jinxes. He had taken an anti-apparation spell and several rather inventive hexes on the behalf of Theseus, that Tina had been surprised to see he was capable of – but the man had still not given in. Tina was beginning to grow increasingly frustrated with the lack of results, but she wasn't sure what else they could do. They had no Veritaserum and any offered deals of leniency they had attempted had been met with scorn and laughter.

They couldn't take him back to the Ministry for interrogation, as she doubted that Graves would happy that they had gone behind his back and disobeyed direct orders. There was a chance that he might see the value in having Abernathy as a source, but Tina did not want to risk expulsion from MACUSA so soon after getting her Auror status back.

The most likely result of taking Abernathy back to the Ministry, would be that Graves would have them, at the very least suspended, and would take over the interrogation himself. She had no doubt that her superior would be able to get answers out of Abernathy, but she also knew that Graves would most likely only pursue Credence and Grindelwald, rather than bother to discover where Newt was.

Abernathy was a much easier target to get information about Newt from then Grindelwald would be – even if Graves managed to recapture him. The dark wizard would likely leave Newt to rot wherever he had stashed him, rather than reveal any useful information. They couldn't wait for MACUSA and the British Ministry to find Grindelwald – Abernathy was their best bet.

The ex-MACUSA employee was still stuck where he stood, panting and wincing from the numerous stinging lacerations on his person from Theseus's startlingly vicious attacks. The man had practically thrown himself into a frenzy once he began to question Abernathy, Tina had had to restrain him at one point, when his one of his burning hexes nearly took out Abernathy's eye.

She had a feeling that she was now witnessing the soldier in Theseus Scamander – the man forged in war. The man who was usually hid so carefully away behind a pompous, gentlemanly exterior. The warrior that would do anything to get his little brother back.

It was quite frightening to see, but Tina could understand his fury – if it had been Queenie's life in the balance she would likely be reacting in a similar way. Even as it was, she could feel worry weighing down upon her as she thought about what Grindelwald could be doing to Newt right now. What if he was dead already?

This thought spurred her into action, and she stepped forward to grasp Theseus's arm, halting him in his next spell, he looked back in her in irritation, but then his blue gaze softened as he saw the concern in her face. Tina cleared her throat in an attempt to clear the knot that somehow formed in it, and spoke in a hushed tone, quiet enough that Abernathy wouldn't hear. "Look, I don't think this is working, but I think we might have a better way of going about it." She gave him a pointed look and he caught on a moment later. Queenie.

She hadn't wanted Queenie to have to delve into the mind of a delusional, fanatical criminal – knowing how impressionable her younger sister could be, but she could see that Abernathy was leaving them with little other choice. Theseus gave her a nod and Tina walked back towards the bar's back door, opening it and waving out a clearly loitering Queenie. She had asked her sister to remain inside while they interrogated Abernathy, not wanting her to witness the violence first hand. But from the tears that glimmered in Queenie's eyes, she could tell that the man's pain had been picked up by the blonde's Legilimens abilities.

Hating herself for what she was about to ask, she saw Queenie's eyes meet hers and she swallowed jerkily before nodding – she already knew what Tina was going to ask. Of course, she did. Tina gently squeezed her sister's slim, pale hand and led her out of the bar's back corridor and over to where Abernathy was stuck still. Queenie wiped her eyes on her coat sleeve and circled around to stand in front of Abernathy who looked back at her with a puzzled frown.

"Queenie? What're you doing here?" he was sputtering slightly, clearly nervous at seeing his previous workplace crush in front of him – especially when she was now aware of his true alignment. The truth dawned on him several seconds later however, and his face transformed into a mask of panic. "You can't do this Queenie, you know I'm doing this for the right reasons! You know me."

Queenie shook her head tearfully, clearly upset at seeing someone she knew hurt and pleading. Guilt ate up Tina's insides, but she steeled herself – this had to be done. Newt didn't deserve to be hurt and neither did Credence. Abernathy had chosen his side and if that meant he had to have his thoughts invaded for the sake of saving others, then that was how it had to be.

"I'm sorry honey, but it wouldn't have worked out between us anyway – I love a wonderful man and you chose the side of a man who is torturing one of my friends." Queenie gazed into Abernathy's eyes, but Tina could see that she was looking into his mind as well now, digging through the surface thoughts and into what they needed to know.

She shuddered after a minute or so and took a step back from him, closing her eyes tightly and hugging herself. When she opened her eyes again, they were clear of tears and instead held an uncharacteristic steel; whatever she had seen in his mind had removed any doubt from her own. Queenie turned to face Theseus and Tina with a tight expression pinching her face.

"Grindelwald is holding Newt in the Ministry vaults."

"What?!" Theseus exclaimed, incredulity and fury twisting his face and Tina felt a similar combination of emotions flood through her.

Surely not even Grindelwald had the gall to imprison Newt directly under the headquarters of the people hunting him? How did he even get in? Though coming to think of it, it was admittedly one of the last places the Aurors would have thought to look. with some well-placed charms and precautions, he could have kept Newt there for as long as he wanted. It wasn't as if he hadn't infiltrated a supposedly highly secure department of a Ministry before.

Queenie merely nodded, not looking at either of her Auror companions, biting her lip as if she was fighting off tears again. Tina embraced her sister quickly, squeezing her in a brief hug of comfort and thanks before stepping back and turning to Theseus. "Can you contact your Aurors and have them collect Abernathy?"

Theseus nodded and conjured a silvery Patronus that took the form of an eagle that then soared away, undoubtedly relaying the intended message to his department back at the Ministry.

"Now let's find Newt before I do something that someone will regret." He shot a dark look at Abernathy, flicking his wand sharply at the man, binding his hand behind his back with magic supressing cuffs.

Tina gripped his arm, reaching out for Queenie's hand with her own, but her younger sister shook her head and remained where she stood. "Someone should stay here to make sure he doesn't escape before the other Aurors get here."

"I can do that Queenie, you should go back to the Ministry with Theseus." Tina said, raising her eyebrows as Queenie shook her head again, offering her a soft, watery smile.

"You should go find Newt, he needs you both right now… I can take care of him for a few minutes." Queenie pulled out her wand as if to prove her point, holding it out towards Abernathy in a forcibly decisive manner. Tina eyed her sister for a few seconds doubtfully before her need to find Newt overrode her indecision and she nodded.

"Alright, I'll see you later Queenie, apparate back to the Ministry with the Aurors when they arrive, okay?"

Queenie nodded again, and Tina and Theseus disappeared with a loud crack, leaving Queenie alone with a bound and fuming Abernathy in the alleyway.

The younger Goldstein sister sighed heavily, standing still for several long seconds before she flicked her wand at Abernathy in a swishing movement. His feet came unstuck from the ground and the magical bonds fell away from his hands with a clank and a splash to the puddled ground.

"Now… can you tell me more about this opportunity for me and my Jacob?" Queenie asked, her uncertain eyes meeting Abernathy's, who smiled reassuringly and reached out a hand to the blonde witch. She hesitated for only a moment before taking the offered hand. They too disappeared with a crack, leaving the puddled alleyway empty.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Theseus and Tina hurried through the corridors of the Ministry, having carefully dodged the questions thrown at them when they had arrived outside and entered the main Atrium. Theseus knew the way down to the vaults - even though he hadn't had much reason to go down this far before, he had always prided himself on being a thorough man and had long ago mapped out the entire building inside his head.

He could feel Tina's apprehension reflecting his own as they jogged down flight after flight of stairs – the lifts not having not been built this far down, as the vaults were rarely used nowadays. There were only six rooms down here, each vault supposedly empty - except for the first, which held old or broken magical artefacts considered to be too volatile to be kept elsewhere. They bypassed the first, as it would have been the least likely one that Grindelwald would hold a prisoner, as it was still occasionally visited.

Tina checked the second and third rooms while Theseus moved on to the fourth and fifth rooms, not finding anything in them out of the ordinary – only dust and one decidedly irritated rat that Tina stupefied with a squeak of surprise.

The final room was a different matter entirely - the freshly carved warding Sigils and lack of dust clearly hinting at recent activity. Theseus felt a paroxysm of uncertainty flood over him however, as he saw that the wards were no longer active – he pushed the door open with an ease that further dashed his hopes. The room was empty, save for the still lit blue flames torches, broken pieces of metal… and the blood.

There was the lingering stench of burnt flesh in the air too, as Theseus slowly walked to stop in the centre of the room, he could tell that whoever had been held in here – evidenced by the broken links of chain scattered about – had suffered. Had been burned. His sweet, stupid little brother had been _burned_.

Theseus let out a shout of inarticulate rage and slammed his fist into the nearest wall, not even caring as he heard a sickening pop that told him he'd probably broken something. He didn't care. Newt wasn't here. He was gone, and he was most definitely hurt.

He felt a soft hand on his wrist, and he lowered his shaking fist from the wall, uncurling his fingers with a hiss of pain. Tina's wand waved over his bruised, cracked knuckles in a soothing motion, healing the self-inflicted injury before the swelling could properly set in. He looked up into her brown eyes and nodded his head in silent thanks. She offered him a weak smile and touched her wand to his nose, chanting " _Episkey_." Theseus felt his disjointed nose snap back into place with a crack that left him wincing slightly, testing it gingerly with one hand.

They had known that it would be a likely scenario that Newt was being tortured… but seeing to the proof of it so clearly was more than Theseus could take right now. "Grindelwald will pay for this. He will."

Tina nodded, her expression sombre, but tears shimmering in her chocolate eyes. He couldn't help it, before he even thought about it, he had pulled her into a hug. She stiffened for a moment before relaxing into his arms and he felt her smile against his shoulder, and she murmured. "Queenie was right – you are a hugger, aren't you?"

Theseus and Tina shared a huffed out laugh and withdrew from one another, Tina wiping her eyes self-consciously. She needn't have been ashamed of her tears however, as Theseus' own eyes were not entirely dry either. "So I've been told."

The sound of soft approaching footsteps startled both Theseus and Tina to look towards the door to the vault and were both shocked when they saw who had just entered the room. Wrapped in a somewhat elaborate blue velvet overcoat that only just covered a more sombre grey three-piece suit – Albus Dumbledore stood in the doorway. His expression was grave, and he held his wand aloft in one hand, while the other held a painfully familiar battered brown suitcase.

"I'm afraid that he's long gone." Dumbledore spoke grimly before nodding a greeting to each startled Auror in turn. "Theseus, Miss Goldstein. I believe that I can guide you as to where Grindelwald may have taken Newt next however."

Theseus clenched his hands, eyes wide as he took a step forward in eagerness. "Where?"

"He has gone to seek out the boy, Credence, in Paris, he can be found with the _Circus Arcanus_ , but I suggest that you move quickly if you hope to thwart Grindelwald's plans."

Dumbledore stowed his wand away in his overcoat pocket and used the same hand to withdraw a black card with a symbol etched onto it in gold ink, handing it to Theseus who took it out of reflex. "You may find this helpful if you find yourselves in need of a safehouse."

He turned to leave, but Theseus spoke before he could, prompting the elder wizard to turn his head back to look at Theseus. "But wait, aren't you going to do anything about this? You are one of the few wizards who could stand a chance at defeating Grindelwald. You were the one who sent Newt to New York in the first place and got him involved in all of this - despite what both of you might say to the contrary."

Theseus levelled a hard stare at Dumbledore that the other man failed to meet, instead seemingly buried in his own guilt-ridden thoughts. "He needs your help. Are you really going to let him suffer because of an old relationship with an egotistical maniac?"

Dumbledore looked up at him with true remorse in his blue eyes, his brow crinkling and his lips a thin line. "Believe me when I say Theseus, that if I could challenge Grindelwald… I would." He averted his gaze as he turned to leave once more. "I am truly sorry, but you are going to have to save Newt and Credence without my help."

 **A/N Thank you for the helpful feedback and general loveliness! Also, a great thanks to LaughUrHeartOut – I'm going to be using your idea in the next chapter, so thank you very much for that! I decided to alter my plans a bit to include it as I really like it – more than what I already had planned. LOYA**


	10. 10 - 'Grace for Sale'

**"Arsenic or everclear - Pick your poison, fast my dear! The apocalypse is drawing near and we're all gonna die." – 'We're all mad' - The Circus Band Contraption**

 **"Tongues, tongues, Slither in the mud, that's how a carnival grows, my son." – 'Grace for Sale' – Terrence Zdunich**

Newt had in fact been to France once before. Though it had been a brief visit nearly twelve years ago – near the beginning of his Magizoologist career - in which he had chased an escaped Thestral across several miles of desolate farmland in the Province region. He remembered how grateful the Thestral had been when Newt had finally caught her and managed to relieve her of the harness and stinging jinxes that had placed upon her by a particularly nasty group of poachers. It had taken him far longer than he had ever intended, but fortunately neither the poachers nor any Muggles had seen the Thestral after he coaxed her into his case.

The Thestral's natural defence mechanism of only being able to be seen by those who had witnessed death, protected her from being seen by most of the French Muggles – all they had seen was a sweaty Englishman in a blue overcoat chasing wildly across fields and jumping haphazardly over fences. While it had been rather embarrassing, he had been glad at the time that at least he wouldn't have to go back and obliviate the locals. They had not seemed all that surprised by the odd behaviour and had merely gone straight back to their business.

The poachers would have posed more of a threat, had more than one of them been able to see the creature. The young Magizoologist had been able to stupefy the one aware man before he could alert his companions, and Newt had then guided the Thestral into his case before anyone else could see. As it was, Newt had been able to escape with the Thestral and had nursed her back to health within his case.

The reason behind Newt being able to see Thestrals at such a young age had been a decidedly dramatic one indeed. During the second year of the Great War, Newt had served on the Eastern Front to wrangle Ukrainian Ironbellies; the job having been pushed in his direction by Theseus, who at the time had been trying to gain Newt a place in the Ministry. Likely attempting to encourage Newt to use his passion for the good of the wizarding world, and, at the time, Newt had been willing to do so.

He had been having great success with the dragons, gaining their trust as he had with every other creature he had ever encountered. However, his fellow Magizoologists had not had quite the same skill or luck. It had ultimately ended in five brutal deaths and two rather severe injuries; the program had been a failure as the dragons only responded to Newt and tried to eat everyone else.

Being introduced to death in such a brutal fashion had hardened Newt more than anyone, except maybe Theseus, knew and it was what had ultimately cemented his standing on not allowing creatures being used for violent or selfish purposes. Even war did not warrant that level of barbarity.

That was why, when he and Grindelwald arrived in Paris, directly outside of a striped tent, and he had seen the numerous magical beasts being abused and caged, he had felt horror grip his fragile heart. He could see a Kappa held inside a murky tank - clearly unhappy in the salt water, as the blood drinking creatures preferred and thrived better in pond water. It's skin was darker than it should have been, and the scales seemed to be peeling away in the unsuitable water.

On the other side of the tank, about ten feet away from it, Newt saw a disproportionately small cage that held a real life Zouwu - something that while he had never seen before, he had read upon as much as he was able from the minimal Chinese translations. It bore scars of abuse from what looked to be whip marks, that made fury and indignation rise in his chest.

The very idea that these beautiful, rare creatures were being mistreated for the entertainment of others made a familiar anger tighten his bound muscles and he looked up to glare sideways at Grindelwald. He didn't know why the man had brought him here, but if it was in some twisted form of humour, the dark wizard had gotten his wish – Newt was revolted and horrified.

Grindelwald dragged Newt up by his waistcoat and shirt collar, pulling him through the tent flap, thankfully away from the disturbing sights, but worryingly towards a row of vacant cages that lined the back-tent wall. With a flick of the Elder Wand, Newt was thrown bodily into one of the cages, crying out in pain through the metal muzzle as his battered body was further maltreated.

Unable to soften his fall due to his bound state, Newt's head collided with the metal bars, feeling them resonate with a clang as Grindelwald then locked the cage door behind him. He rolled slightly onto his side, using his one good leg to attempt to kick himself up into a more upright position against the bars.

Grindelwald was looking at him in dark amusement - the softer behaviour from the cell now apparently long gone. He tapped his wand against the bars with a delighted smirk twisting his pale lips as a shock of blue electricity shot from the tip - the metal surrounding Newt turning into one large conductor.

Newt's body spasmed and arched uncontrollably as wave after wave of shocks coursed through him, the metal all around him worsening the effects by tenfold – the chains, the muzzle and the bars of the cage all conducting the energy straight into Newt. He could smell the acrid scent of burning flesh as the metal was seared into his flesh, the chains burning through his shirt and the muzzle eating away at the already damaged skin of his face.

And all he could do was scream and writhe in agony.

Eventually it stopped, but as the effects of electrocution were wont to do, his body continued to jerk and shudder uncontrollably for long after the current of energy stopped. Hot tears stung his face as they streamed from his scrunched shut eyes. Why couldn't this just _stop_? Hadn't Grindelwald hurt him enough already? Hadn't he realised that Newt was never going to help him? Why did he insist on bringing Newt with him to Paris? Why couldn't he have just left him alone in the cell to fade away? It would have been an easier fate than this. More peaceful. There would be no cruel laughter there.

Wait, laughter? Newt opened his stinging eyes to find that the tent was not quite as vacant as he had thought. At some point during his torment, Grindelwald had apparently allowed – or maybe _encouraged_ was a better word, judging by the look on his face – a crowd of onlookers into the tent to witness his suffering. He could see most of the faces twisted in mirth, and some, even in grim satisfaction, it was horrifying to think that these circus goers were here to revel in his pain.

There could not honestly be _this_ many sadistic, voyeuristic people in the world could there? A quiet voice in the back of his head that sounded suspiciously like Theseus' pompous tones commented " _They are French_." Newt quickly silenced the voice, fearing that the prolonged abuse had finally shattered his mind, it couldn't end like this – he wasn't going to let Grindelwald break him. Not ever.

Clinging desperately onto his newfound determination, Newt forced himself up onto his one good leg with teeth gritted so hard he was sure he felt one crack slightly under the pressure. He managed to stay upright only by leaning rather heavily upon the bars behind him. Everything was tilted in that odd, funny little way that happens when looking for too long at the reflections on a darkened train window - slightly off. Just _wrong_ enough to make him feel sick. It was likely an aftereffect of the electrocution alongside the gnawing hunger and dehydration he was experiencing. He forced his watery eyes to fix upon Grindelwald, who was standing further back in the growing crowd, leaning almost casually against the main supporting tent pole.

Without the use of his voice, Newt conveyed all the steel and hatred he could manage through his eyes alone, Grindelwald seemed surprised by this – that he was still fighting – and pushed himself off the pole. The crowd of onlookers parted obediently as Grindelwald approached the cage once more, taking slow, deliberate steps, ensuring that all attention was fixed upon himself.

"My brothers, my sisters… my friends." Every eye in the tent was fixed on him now with rapt attention. "When I first decided to speak to you – _for_ you – all in Paris, I had intended to demonstrate my desire for peaceful protest and to allow those of the Ministries to reveal their true colours themselves." Grindelwald had halted in front of the cage now, turning his back on Newt to face the crowd.

"But, as you are all well aware by now, the Ministries of Europe and America hold no care or mercy for those who wish to challenge their tyrannical rule." There were nods and jeers in the crowd, faces all around reflecting similar expressions of rapt fury. "In their _crusade_ to crush the truth speakers and seekers under their boot, they have invaded your homes, they have maimed and abused your families and friends, they have slaughtered innocents for the mere thought of wanting _more_."

He spread his arms wide, as if gesturing to everyone in the tent. "You are all here because you seek a different way of life, a _better_ way of life. One where the search for one man does not become more important than the lives of those in the wizarding community – even those who once remained loyal to the Ministry." Grindelwald waved his hand at someone standing near the front of the crowd, Newt's eyes widened as he recognised Abernathy – the MACUSA employee who had released and switched places with Grindelwald. The dark-haired man came to stand beside Grindelwald with a solemn expression upon his battered face, red welts, bruises and dressings were wrapped around his face and neck. His left arm was also held at an awkward angle, as if it was malformed in some way.

"Corelias here, was tortured at the hands of British and American Aurors for his belief in the greater good - he barely escaped with his life. He and many others like him are prime examples of just what we are fighting against. We live in a world where we are beaten into submission by those who wish us to submit to Les Non-Magiques, the No-Majs, the Can't Spells – to the Muggles." Grindelwald grasped Abernathy briefly by the shoulder, squeezing it slightly before the man returned to his place in the crowd – his role fulfilled.

"Do not make the mistake however, of believing that I hate them - I do not. I do not fight out of hatred. I fight for the love of our world and for fear of what the Muggles will be allowed to do to it."

"Muggles mean no less than any witch or wizard – they are merely of different value. Not worthless, though worth less than the Ministry's power in the eyes of those who serve it."

Grindelwald seemed to draw himself out of his passion induced reverie as his gaze snapped back to look at Newt instead of the ever-growing crowd of assembled fanatics behind him. "You may be wondering who I have brought to join us today, or if not, then _why_ he is here." Newt tried not to falter under every gaze that was now burning into him, but his natural awkwardness overtook him, and his gaze flickered down to examine his own battered, slightly singed shoes. " _Newton Scamander_ is yet further evidence of how flawed the current world order really is. Abandoned by his friends in positions of power across the globe… instead they pursue an innocent, abused boy with the intent of destroying him for the power he holds."

Newt shook his head numbly, hating how Grindelwald was twisting the situation, weaving his words into a damning version of the truth that was further enthralling those around him. He may not agree with the Ministry, but inciting rebellion and violence for the sake of change was not the way to bring about peace or equality. As his desperate gaze scanned the crowd, searching for someone, _anyone_ who might not be being taken in by Grindelwald's silver tongue, it landed upon a familiar pale, angular face at the back of the tent. Credence. Oh no.

He didn't know if Grindelwald yet knew the boy was here, but judging from his rather pointed words, Newt could only assume that he did. Staring very deliberately at the boy until he finally met his gaze, Newt jerked his head towards the exit – trying to non-verbally tell the younger man to get the hell out of here before something bad happened. Credence stared back at him with an unfathomable expression upon his face, Newt repeated the gesture, his eyes shining with desperation – the boy _had_ to know the danger he was in. Why was he even here?

A ripple of laughter ran through the room that jerked Newt from his occupation, his head turning to look at Grindelwald who was once again regarding him with amusement. Apparently, the man had continued speaking while Newt had been distracted. There was a familiar gleam in his blue eye that told Newt to expect pain, he gritted his teeth and braced himself, offering the man a hard glare of determination.

He wasn't prepared however, for the metal of his chains to come to life, tugging on his upper body and causing throbbing bolts of sensation to shoot through his numbed limbs. He stumbled, limping forwards and through the now open door of the cage as the chains pulled him along, he just managed to catch himself to stay standing. The metal muzzle dropped away from his face, much to Newt's relief, but he did not allow himself to revel in the freedom, knowing that Grindelwald would not have released his mouth for any innocuous reason.

He was soon proved right as the chains unravelled from his upper body, sliding down to wrap around his arms, pulling his shoulders violently over into a hunched position as they melded into the ground in front of him. Newt was now crumpled in a half-bowed position at the man's feet, his broken arm and leg manipulated mercilessly along with the movements, causing him to groan in pain.

"It seems that you have something to say, Mr Scamander." Grindelwald spoke from beside where Newt now knelt, shaking slightly as he pulled his one good leg up under him - feeling decidedly uncomfortable at being the centre of every attention in the room. He knew that the dark wizard was toying with him, he was aware of Credence's presence and Newt could only hope that this would shock the boy into action – to make him leave. The Magizoologist did not dare try to look at Credence again, not wanting to draw the attention of the surrounding Grindelwald fanatics to him.

"Now, now Newt, you're amongst friends here." Grindelwald murmured, eyes alit with amusement, he leaned close to Newt's ear and spoke in a carrying voice. "Go ahead and speak your mind. Tell them all how wrong I am."

Newt did not rise to the bait, he knew that no one in this tent would believe or even really listen to him even if he did speak up. There was no point in indulging Grindelwald in his sadistic mind games. He felt Grindelwald's face drift inches from his own, Newt kept his gaze downward. "Not even the man who once assisted in my imprisonment can argue in favour of those who abandoned him."

Grindelwald was goading him, trying to get a reaction that he could use to mock him and solidify his support further. Newt clenched his jaw. He wouldn't rise to it. "You want a better world Newt, I know you do. One where you would no longer be an outcast, an expelled student, a disappointment to your family – underappreciated by those who simply do not understand your true potential."

Newt got the feeling that it was not only him he was speaking to now; the words Grindelwald was using could also be said to be true for Credence. He was utilising his gift for telling people what they wanted to hear in order to convince both young men. Grindelwald was trying to use Newt as a scapegoat to gain Credence's trust – he couldn't allow it. He finally raised his blue eyes to meet Grindelwald's mismatched ones, and the elder wizard smiled in twisted delight, thinking that he was finally getting his way.

"The Ministry may not go about things in a way that I agree with, but they, at least, do not condone mass slaughter for the 'greater good'. They do not solely employ people who wish to gain enough power to crush others beneath them." Newt's eyes left Grindelwald's and instead met Credence's dark ones as he had almost unconsciously made his way to front of the crowd.

"Manipulating those around you and having to justify every step of your existence to yourself and others is not the way to be. The ends do not always justify the means if those means are the deaths or subjugation of countless others. No one is ever really as alone as they feel... there will always be someone willing to lend a hand in friendship."

He could see conflict flickering clearly across Credence's face – he clearly understood what Newt was trying to tell him and at least part of him agreed with it, but there was something else lingering in his gaze. The boy sought knowledge and purpose and Grindelwald's golden promises were evidently tempting him. Newt willed the younger man to understand him, willed that he would see the truth and get away from Grindelwald before it was too late. There were several long seconds of painful anticipation before Credence turned and fled back though the crowd, disappearing from the tent.

The crowd was silent for some time, every eye fixed upon Grindelwald as he slowly stood, brushing a hand back through his hair in seemingly a very deliberate calming gesture. Newt swallowed slightly, his muscles bunching in anticipation of what he feared was coming next. He had apparently managed to turn Credence away from temptation, at least for the moment anyway, but the victory felt decidedly short lived, in the face of the cold fury he could feel radiating from the dark wizard standing beside him.

There was suddenly a blinding white-hot pain that raced up his spine like a line of fire, and Newt bowed forward further under the assault. He couldn't keep in a harsh gasp of pain as his abused body protested the fresh agony in was being presented with. Laughter and jeers filled the tent as Grindelwald's followers cheered on his punishment, apparently delighting in the suffering of someone who was - in their eyes at least – a supporter of the Ministry.

His gasps progressed into fully fledged screams as the slicing fire continued along his spine. Grindelwald began circling him with his wand still slashing in violent swings and flicks as he shot lash after lash across Newt's skin. The pain was overwhelming, and Newt's hearing was becoming oddly muffled – like he was floating underwater while the world went on above him.

That was why, when he heard someone yell his name, he wasn't sure if he had really heard it or if it was just another trick of his cracking mind. He had heard it before, why wouldn't he hear it now? When his body was descending into a new level of hell.

Then he heard it again, this time much closer and now he was pretty sure that he had not imagined it. He had never heard his brother sound quite so terrified.

"NEWT!"


	11. 11 - 'Trapdoor'

**"Everyone gather around for a show, watch as this man disappears as we know… He thinks that faith might be dead, nothing kills a man faster than his own head." – 'Trapdoor', Twenty-one Pilots**

The French Ministry of Magic had been decidedly unhelpful. Despite the fact that Theseus spoke fairly fluent French thanks to his stationing in the Great War, the officials and Aurors had refused to even entertain the idea that Grindelwald was in Paris. That was of course, until Grindelwald's signal to his followers had spread across the city like a bloody homing beacon. They had only gone to the Ministry first as it was one of the Auror flu-networks best links to Paris - less liable to…cross-connections. The French Auror department had demanded that they explain their presence and that had resulted in a series of multilingual arguments that left Theseus feeling ready to hex anyone who looked at him wrong.

He and Tina had only managed to leave because of the resulting chaos after Grindelwald's signal presented itself across the city; the Aurors had dispersed to settle the panic and fighting that had broken out. Having not been to the _Circus Arcanus_ before, they had to make their way on foot through the crowded city streets, dodging duelling Grindelwald supporters and Aurors as they did so. It was bloody mayhem. There was next to no chance that the Muggles would not get caught in the crossfire or witness magic – this was going to require an awful lot of obliviating and paperwork. Better leave that to the French Ministry.

The fighting seemed to get thicker as they approached the hidden entrance to the Circus street; it unnerved Theseus to think that there was such a hive of activity around the place where Credence was known to be. From what he had gathered from hearing snippets of angry conversations in the Ministry and on the streets, it seemed that Grindelwald was holding a rally in Paris. Just fantastic.

They dodged through the statue's drape and into a crowd of revelling circus goers; it was difficult to tell who was actually a follower of Grindelwald, a circus worker or just an innocent bystander. The veritable cavalcade of witches, wizards, children and magical creatures was enough to make Theseus' already fraying nerves go into overdrive, he barrelled forward through the crowd, sending mostly harmless spells at anyone who got in their way. He could feel Tina behind him, picking off any stragglers with quick jinxes of her own, they made their way towards where the crowd was thickest – surrounding and spilling out of a larger red and gold striped tent. It was a fairly safe bet to assume that the gathered ones were probably here for Grindelwald.

Just as they reached the entrance of the tent, Theseus heard Tina let out a shriek of surprise and he turned around just in time to see her being pulled off to the side. Instantly raising his wand in defence and diving out of the crowd after her, he found himself gaping in shock as he saw just who it was who had grabbed his companion. Percival Graves nodded grimly at him, releasing Tina's arm and gesturing for the two Aurors to follow him. Both hesitated, glancing at each other for a moment before following Graves back to where he stood with a small group of Aurors at the side of the main tent, off behind the animal cages.

Graves turned back to them with an uncharacteristically haggard expression on his grim face, he looked dishevelled and weary, but resolute. "I am not going to make the mistake of asking what you think you are doing here, as I already know the answer. But for now, we all have the same goal, Grindelwald is inside that tent right now and this is likely one of the best chances we will have to take him down while he is… erstwhile distracted." There was a flash of guilt in Percival's eyes as he glanced towards Theseus and the elder Scamander sensed instantly that something was wrong – Graves knew something about Newt that he wasn't letting on.

"What do you mean _erstwhile distracted_?" Theseus asked, his tone icy and strained as he stared down the other wizard. Graves sighed but seemed to relent.

"Your brother is inside, Mr Scamander and Grindelwald seems to be using him as… some sort of example." Graves' eyes darkened in anger and apparent sorrow as Theseus' jaw tightened painfully. "I'm going to allow you to assist with this situation Scamander, but only because I believe that you are a competent enough Auror to be of use in taking Grindelwald down. Do _not_ make me regret placing my trust in you."

With that said, he turned to the group of around ten Aurors and spoke in a more even, commanding tone. "We will enter the tent, disperse and observe until I signal to do otherwise. Do not let these people make the mistake of thinking that we are the enemy by attacking unprovoked." Theseus nodded, agreeing with the plan, seeing that it made sense from a strategic point of view – even if every bone in his body was screaming at him to just get in there and get to Newt.

He slowly filed in with his fellow Aurors, feeling Tina clench her hand in his as they went to stand across the tent, towards the back, watching as the other Aurors spread out across the space, mingling with the crowd. Grindelwald's beckoningly hypotonic voice was filtering throughout the marquee, capturing the attention of every eye in the place, that was of course, except for that of Theseus and Tina.

The words filtered through his ears without really registering them. "-for the love of our world and for fear of what the Muggles will be allowed to do to it…. Muggles mean no less than any witch or wizard – they are merely of different value. Not worthless, though worth less than the Ministry's power in the eyes of those who serve it."

The only thing that Theseus could seem to focus upon was the glimpse he could see of a battered figure hunched in the cage behind the dark wizard. He found himself moving forward unconsciously through the sea of people, stepping at a slow pace that continued until he could properly see the figure in the cage. He thought of it as a figure, simply because the emaciated, tattered and bruised man could simply _not_ be his innocent little brother.

He was not cognizant of his actions as he stopped in a place off to the side of the crowd, towards the front, but still shielded from casual notice by a group of supporters standing nearby. He felt as if he were in an odd surreal state, his eyes glued to his little brother as Grindelwald continued his rant. It wasn't until Theseus heard his surname that he snapped his captivated attention to focus upon the dark wizard instead. "Mr Scamander is yet further evidence of how flawed the current world order really is. Abandoned by his friends in positions of power across the globe… instead they pursue an innocent, abused boy with the intent of destroying him for the power he holds."

Those cruel, taunting, manipulative words…It made Theseus clench his fist so tight around his wand that his whitened knuckles protested. He saw how Newt reacted to it, saw the pain present in his blue eyes and the desperation that flooded them when they focussed upon something in the back of the crowd that Theseus couldn't see. He witnessed how his sibling jerked his head in a clear signal for someone to leave and heard the ripples of laughter that it resulted in from the crowd.

For a moment Theseus found himself glancing worriedly around for Tina, concerned that she had been the one spotted by Newt and in turn Grindelwald. Fortunately, he found her standing directly behind him, eyes alit with unshed tears, she evidently sensed his confusion and leaned close to whisper in his ear. "Credence is here."

Both of the Aurors' attentions were torn away back to Newt as they heard a rattle of chains and several muffled moans of pain. Grindelwald was orchestrating the chains surrounding Newt like a conductor with overly elaborate movements of his wand – clearly putting on a show for the gathered followers. It was a cruel game that Grindelwald was playing, and Newt seemed to be well used to it, judging by the lack of fight he put up as he was manhandled by magic to crumple at Grindelwald's feet. Not like there was anything he could have done about it in his condition.

Some of Newt's limbs seemed to be completely unresponsive and Theseus cringed as he witnessed how his younger brother's leg seemed to be wrenched bonelessly beneath him at all the wrong angles. As the Magizoologist was forced to kneel, Theseus felt horror at the glimpses of burnt streaks of flesh he caught through the shredded material of Newt's shirt and waistcoat.

He could practically _taste_ the pretence in the air. There seemed to be a hunger for suffering, a _need_ a for violence emanating from the assembled witches and wizards that rose like a heatwave around them. It was sickening. The only thing keeping him pinned to the spot was the tight grip that Tina had on his hand, it was almost as if she was using him as an anchor to keep herself from rushing forward. The grip reminded him not to do the same, he was anchored by her as much as she was by him. The mutual support was unexpectedly bolstering.

That resolve was tested to its extremes however, when the horrible metal muzzle dropped from Newt's face and Theseus began to shake with barely repressed rage. Newt's pale face was marred by long, blistered, bloody lines that ran along where the device had been – the skin was clearly very painful, and Newt's eyes held high levels of relief to be rid of it. The very idea that Grindelwald had muzzled Newt like he was some sort of vicious dog sickened Theseus more than he could express, and he had to let go of Tina's hand for fear of crushing it in his clenched fist. His breath was now coming out in short harsh pants through his nose as his gritted teeth would not seem to part enough to allow for normal breathing.

He tuned himself back into Grindelwald's words just as the man leant down and continued to address Newt in a clearly provocative manner. "Now, now Newt, you're amongst friends here. Go ahead and speak your mind. Tell everyone how wrong I am."

Theseus could see how hard Newt was trying to keep strong, it was heart-breaking to witness a sweet, undeserving man such as Newt, suffer like this – to be so abused and close to breaking. But the resolute set of his face as he looked up at Grindelwald made Theseus feel a thrill of pride shoot through him at his little brother's perseverance. If nothing else, the naïve idiot was certainly stubborn. Unfortunately, that double-edged trait may well have been what drew Grindelwald's attention to him in the first place.

"You want a better world Newt, I know you do. One where you would no longer be an outcast, an expelled student, a disappointment to your family – underappreciated by those who simply do not understand your true potential." The words were clearly laced with enticement, and Newt felt a wave of shame flood through him at them – was he really so blatant with his disapproval of Newt? So much so that even _Grindelwald_ was aware of it? He knew he could be hard on him sometimes, but Newt knew that he did it because he cared about him… didn't he?

Theseus was shocked when Newt finally raised his head and opened his mouth to speak; clearly struggling to find the strength to do so. "Manipulating those around you and having to justify every step of your existence to yourself and others is not the way to be. The ends do not always justify the means if it means the deaths or subjugation of countless others. No one is ever really as alone as they feel... there will always be someone willing to lend a hand in friendship."

Warmth filled Theseus chest as his brother spoke so honestly and there was that surge of pride again; it even abated a little of his building rage. That pride almost doubled as he saw the crowd part as Credence went to leave – his ridiculous little brother had convinced the Obscurial to abstain from joining Grindelwald. That should at least make Graves satisfied if nothing else, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw several Aurors flit out of the tent after Credence.

That was when there was a loud crack that filled the previously quiet tent. Theseus' horrified gaze was drawn back solely to his brother as Grindelwald lost the last semblance of sanity he seemed to have been maintaining and began to use his wand to effectively flay Newt alive. The cracks and screams became the only things Theseus could hear, the jeering and laughing tuned out around him, fading into insignificance in the face of his baby brother's suffering.

He felt frozen in place in utter horror. Each invisible lash of the Elder Wand that struck Newt seemed to slow down in perfect clarity in Theseus' head – the magic flaying layers of skin from the muscle beneath in vicious, bloody precision.

One, two, three, four- across the back.

 _Gasps of agony that rose in volume with each strike._

One, two- across the left side.

 _Gasps turning into tortured moans._

One, two, three, four, five- across the chest.

 _The third strike resulted in the first scream which tore through Theseus worse than the magic tore_ _through Newt._

One across the other side.

 _A gasping scream_

Two more across the back.

 _The first sob left his trembling lips accompanied by another scream._

One across the back of his already mangled leg.

 _Newt seemed senseless as Theseus spotted the white of exposed bone through the blood coating_ _Newt's legs._

He wasn't sure exactly what snapped him out of his horror induced reverie, but whatever it was did so with a powerful vengeance. Theseus let out a roar of rage and barrelled straight through the sadistic bastards surrounding him; uncaring for the presences of Percival and Tina, or for the power of the dark wizard in front of him. All he cared about right now was getting to his baby brother and killing the monster that was brutalising him.

Growing up with Newt had introduced him to a large variety of dangerous magical creatures over his lifetime, but the word monster now seemed an inadequate description for what he was now facing. Gellert Grindelwald was far worse than that.

He barely registered calling Newt's name, though he could feel his lips moving to shape the familiar word over and over. What he was aware however, was his wand coming up to blast Grindelwald off his feet and into one of the nearby cages. There was a satisfying clunking sound as the man struck the metal, but Theseus did not take any time to savour it. Instead he sent a quick flurry of hexes towards the man, which were deflected with astounding dexterity as Grindelwald rose back up onto his leather clad feet.

Theseus' face was red with rage as he sent every nasty spell, hex, jinx and curse he could of at the man who had hurt Newt. Behind him, he was dimly aware of people apparating, fighting and running left, right and centre. He heard Graves calling orders to his Aurors as they engaged the followers who had decided to stay to defend their misplaced hero.

Theseus' attention was soon solely focussed on the duel however as Grindelwald began to retaliate, all the while deflecting or diffusing Theseus' spells as if it were nothing. The smirk of the other wizard's face only stoked Theseus' rage further as he increased the intensity of his attacks with a snarl of fury. The duel was only brought to a halt when a deflected jinx of Theseus' found a new target with an appalling finality.

Both wizards looked over to where Newt was now lying prone on his back, still trapped by the chains securing him to the ground, but the restraints were now stretched to their taut limits as Newt had been blasted backwards. Theseus was running forwards before he even registered the action, skidding to crouch down beside his injured brother.

Up close, Theseus could smell the acrid stench of burnt flesh and could see the combination of stinging, bloody and branded marks all over his body through his ripped clothing. He felt tears burn the backs of his eyes as he witnessed the crumpled, broken state of Newt's arm and leg, the wounds on his leg exposing the broken bone underneath with nauseating clarity.

Newt's head was slumped back, his eyes closed, and his breathing laboured, but the position of his neck pulled up his shirt, in turn exposing the upper part of his chest and neck. The symbol of the Deathly Hallows was burnt viciously, deeply into his brother's flesh, the skin around the wound was red, veined with black and angry looking.

"Mr Scamander the elder I presume." Grindelwald's amused tone sounded behind him and Theseus turned his blistering glare up to meet the other wizard's unfathomable one. Grindelwald did not have his wand raised, only holding it lightly in his grip at his side, but the threat it represented was still clear. Theseus knew he had put himself into a foolishly vulnerable position, but the fear that had clenched his heart when his _own spell_ had hurt Newt had overridden all his sense.

"Why do this to Newt?! He doesn't deserve this!" Theseus snarled, flinching when he heard a soft whimper come from Newt. He placed a hand on his brother's feverish feeling forehead - careful of the burnt skin - and ran his hand gently through his gingery-blonde hair in a familiar soothing gesture. Newt's confused, hazy blue eyes flickered open at the motion and flitted around for a few moments before landing on Grindelwald and he flinched back slightly into Theseus.

"Now I don't believe that I was the one to hurt him this time. You really should be more careful with your spells Auror Scamander." Theseus gritted his teeth at the low blow, feeling shame flicker through him at the truth in the man's words, but rage quickly overcame it once more.

"It's a-almo-st f-funny h-how of-ften you seem-m to j-justify yours-self using t-that t-technicality." Theseus' sharp gaze snapped down to Newt, who seemed to be somewhat more aware of his surroundings as he eyed Grindelwald with exhausted, bloodshot eyes. He heard a snarl rise from Grindelwald's throat and he raised his wand in anger, Theseus diving for his own wand at the same moment, before a cold voice cut through the tension.

"I wouldn't advice it, Mr Grindelwald." Graves was now standing across from where Theseus crouched with the huddled Newt; leaving him and his brother in the middle of the crossfire. The senior Auror began to mentally question Graves' choice of tactical positioning, before he saw Tina and two other Aurors flanking Grindelwald on the other side. The tent was now empty apart from the assembled Aurors, Newt and Grindelwald.

"Percival, a pleasure as always." Grindelwald spoke with a nauseating smile on his pale lips. Graves' own lips pursed, and his façade of stern professionalism cracked slightly, revealing the anger and repressed emotion beneath.

"That would be _Director Graves_ to you." He corrected, a muscle jumping in his clenched jaw.

"Even after we got to know one another so well?" Grindelwald asked with a raised eyebrow and a gesture of both arms being thrown slightly out to the side. "Though I will admit it may have been a tad one sided, it was difficult for you to ask any personal questions with the state you were in I suppose."

Grindelwald was clearly trying to goad Graves into breaking, he was attempting to use the clearly traumatic history between them to his advantage. The only way the assembled Aurors would stand a chance was if Graves kept a straight head.

"In fact, I believe you may recognise this little beauty from out time together." Grindelwald flicked his wand and the metal muzzle flew from where it had dropped earlier and hovered in front of Graves' now chalk-white face. Uncharacteristic tremors ran through the man's hands as he cast the muzzle to the side with a flick of his own wand and he fixed a stricken, furious gaze upon Grindelwald.

"I must say that I much prefer it on you however, Newt." Theseus felt his younger brother tremble slightly as the dark wizard's taunting gaze turned to fall upon him instead. Theseus stood and placed himself firmly in front of his sibling, blocking him as much as he could from any further harm that Grindelwald could inflict upon him. Newt had suffered more than he ever deserved to.

"If you surrender now, I might just consider skipping the _very_ satisfying stage where I inflict upon you just a _little_ of what I did to Abernathy." Theseus kept his tone as steady as he could, but he knew his eyes told Grindelwald the true extent of his wrath. Graves, Tina and the other two Aurors had been slowly moving closer throughout the confrontation and were now directly in front of and behind the dark wizard. Grindelwald glanced around and seemed even more amused by this.

"Now, now boys and girls, I do encourage you to play by the rules." With those words he sent a column of blue fire running in a spiral around himself, Theseus, Graves and Newt. Tina and the two Aurors were forced to leap back as the fire formed a protective ring, all three attempted to perform the _Aguamenti_ spell, but to no avail. All attempts at hexes or charms seemed to evaporate in the blue flames like they were nothing.

Theseus and Graves both advanced on Grindelwald with elevated wands - steel and hatred of matching intensity in both of their eyes. Newt was still wilting on the ground between them, trapped in his hunched position by his injuries and bonds, but a flick of Grindelwald's wand released the younger wizard from the chains. Newt straightened as much as he was able, tears leaking from his pain filled blue eyes as his multiple wounds bled, strained and burned in protest.

Theseus was about to lean forward to pull Newt behind him when a paralysis spell struck him from behind, throwing him to the ground beside his brother. He heard a corresponding thud as Graves too joined him on the ground – just as paralysed as he was. He could not move an inch of his body but could still see what was going on above him, as Abernathy stepped into the circle of fire - seemingly unaffected by the flames. The battered man looked very satisfied to have gotten some form of payback for his earlier assault. If Abernathy was here, then what had happened to Queenie? How had he gotten free?

Those ponderings were expelled from Theseus' mind however as he saw Grindelwald deliberately move into his and Graves' limited lines of sight. He offered the paralyzed men a grim smile. "As much as I would love to stay and continue to reminisce, I need you two rather influential gentlemen to relay a message to Albus Dumbledore."

He reached back, and Theseus's heart clenched in his mostly immobile chest, as he heard Newt cry out in pain as he was grabbed by the hair and dragged over to Grindelwald's side. Newt's one good arm came up to try to relieve the tight grip in his hair by clutching at the older wizard's waistcoat, his fingers fumbling blindly above him as he sought release, his face scrunched in agony.

"Please make it exceedingly clear to Albus, that if he does not meet me at Nurmengard Castle in two days' time, then Newt will continue to live and _suffer_ as long as he does. I trust you need no further proof of my honesty in this matter." Grindelwald's mouth was set in an ugly line as he met Theseus' wide eyes with dark conviction. "Make him believe or I assure you that you will _all_ live to regret it."

Newt was hauled up onto his one good leg with another cry of agony, his hand dropping away from the other wizard, releasing something silvery and shiny to drop to the ground by Theseus' head, though it went unnoticed by anyone else and Theseus couldn't find it in himself to care.

There was a crack of apparation as Grindelwald, Newt and then Abernathy disappeared. The circle of sapphire flame disappeared, and Graves and Theseus suddenly found themselves mobile once more.

The elder Scamander brother pushed himself into a sitting position and began to slam his fist repeatedly into the blood-stained dirt floor. Stained with _Newt's_ blood. He had failed.

 **A/N – I am a terrible human being and I'm very sorry, but the pen-name should have told you guys what you were getting into. Thanks for the reviews guys! APU feedback is craved and appreciated greatly.**


	12. 12 - 'Broken Crown'

" **Touch my mouth and hold my tongue, I'll never be your chosen one, I'll be home, safe and tucked away, you can't tempt me if I don't see the day. The pull on my flesh was just too strong, Stifles the choice and the air in my lungs, better not to breathe than to breathe a lie**

 **I will not speak of your sin, there was a way out for him, the mirror shows not, your values are all shot. And oh, my heart was flawed I knew my weakness, so hold my hand, consign me not to darkness.**

 **So, crawl on my belly 'til the sun goes down, I'll never wear your broken crown, I took the road and I fucked it all away, now in this twilight, how dare you speak of grace… But in this twilight, our choices seal our fate." – 'Broken Crown' – Mumford and Sons**

It took Newt some time to focus his mind after waking up, as he was unsure if he ever lost consciousness in the first place. The passage of time had become rather distorted for him after leaving the circus tent in Paris, and he wasn't really sure of where he was anymore or how long it had been since they left. It could have been minutes, hours or days. He had no idea.

What he was aware of however, was the lessened effects of the constant agony running through his much-abused body. The pain was most definitely still there, laced deeply into every wound that had been inflicted upon him, but it felt as though they had been treated enough for him to no longer be in danger of bleeding to death or dying from infection. As he peeled open his gummed shut eyes, he looked down to see that his upper body was now swathed in clean white bandages. That was rather odd.

The last thing he remembered with any clarity was his brother and poor Percival being immobilised, Grindelwald making his arbitrary deadline and then apparating away. No, wait… he remembered something else… something important… the blood-binding charm! The silver trinket he had long ago noticed on Grindelwald's waistcoat, the item he seemed to always subconsciously put his hand to when speaking of Dumbledore.

He had not put much thought into the matter until he had touched it accidentally while trying to loosen Grindelwald's grip on his hair, his blindly searching fingers had brushed up against the cool silver and he had received an alarming flash of familiarity. The object had given him a sense that reminded him strongly of his mentor and had sent a thrill of unfamiliar memories twisting through Newt's mind. Flashes and glimpses of a much younger pair of men – Grindelwald and Dumbledore – with joined hands and the ghost-scent of coppery blood.

It had not taken even his shattered mind much time to put the pieces together. It explained why Grindelwald and Dumbledore did not directly challenge one another - it made sense what with the past… closeness that Newt had been allowed to share memories of. The two men made a blood oath to never again fight each other after the death of Ariana. Despite their differences, they had realised that any conflict between them would only result in more death and suffering than either of them wanted. Two such powerful individuals had been of course aware of their own responsibilities… or at least they _were_.

But over the subsequent years, both men had changed. Grindelwald had sought power, domination and a way to defeat Dumbledore – it was why he had pursued Credence. It was why Dumbledore had not engaged in a direct battle with Grindelwald, despite how much he had wanted to end the suffering that his old flame was causing.

To a certain degree, Newt understood Dumbledore's struggle – he himself had loved creatures and people who had done horrible things but had not ever wanted to give up on them. Leta was a prime example of that – after what she had done to creatures and her fellow students… after she had let Newt take the blame for all of it… he still cared for her. He could never truly blame he for what she had done. He liked to think of himself as being a good judge of character, despite however much others tried to tell him that he was too kind-hearted for his own good.

He saw that Dumbledore was likely doing the same thing with Grindelwald. No matter what the man did, Dumbledore still held out some hope that he might see the error of his ways – that there was still a chance that the man might change. His former teacher had once told him that part of what made him like Newt was the eternal optimism that resided within him – a shared hope between them for better. Being able to see the darkness in others but not being consumed by it and instead maintaining a hope for redemption.

But the blood oath that Dumbledore and Grindelwald shared was also what was allowing the dark wizard's violent campaign to continue. Without it, there was a chance that Dumbledore could challenge Grindelwald and end the madness before it became irreversible. Before he started another war.

And that was why Newt had stolen the Blood-Oath charm. He had taken it while Grindelwald had been distracted with his speeches to Theseus and Percival, and he had dropped it by his brother's prone form. He prayed that Theseus had found it and realised what it was… or that at least someone had. Newt may not be able to fight Grindelwald physically, but he would remain strong as long as he could, and this one little act had given him a much-needed bolstering of hope.

Now that his mind was more focussed, Newt found himself remembering Grindelwald's words about Nurmengard Castle and the trap he was evidently laying for Dumbledore. He could only hope that his brother had gotten the blood-binding trinket to Dumbledore and that they had found a way to unbind it before the two days were up. It was an arguably slim chance, but it was at least something.

While submerged in his own thoughts, he had registered that he was lying on a metal-framed bed, which surprised him on some dim level, but that, combined with the bandages, made it seem as if Grindelwald was attempting a softer approach once more. Although the gentler, falsely-kind behaviours Grindelwald had before exhibited unnerved Newt, he was begrudgingly still relieved that he was not bound or in further discomfort. Though it seemed strange that a wizard as powerful as Grindelwald had resorted to Muggle-like care methods, he supposed it was probably because the man wanted Newt to remain weak.

The burn and lash marks were stinging with a constant bite, the ones along his side stretching uncomfortably with every breath he took, but he could tell that they were no longer as severe and angry as before – any traces of infection seemingly gone. The stripes of blistered, raw skin on his chest, arms and wrists from his bonds and the shocks were still just painful and had not been wrapped, but at least his arms both now appeared to be unbroken.

Pulling aside the blanket that was covering him, Newt saw that his broken leg was still as it had been, though it felt as though the bones had been shifted around inside of his knee. It was likely a direct result of all the manipulated movement and violence that had been inflicted upon him, but Newt's leg now looked as if to have been set in the wrong shape - the visible flesh stretched sorely over a disfigured kneecap. The knobble of bone bulging unpleasantly underneath the spilt skin.

It made him feel slightly queasy to look at, so was about to drop the blanket back over his injured body, before he blanched as he belatedly realised that he was currently in a state of nearly complete undress. He was only wearing his white vest over the bandages and his boxer shorts. While his overclothes had been mostly torn, singed and bloody, Newt felt decidedly exposed and uncomfortable at having lost them. Feeling even more nauseous at the idea that someone – likely Grindelwald himself - had undressed him in his sleep, Newt forced his attention away from his own body and instead turned his gaze to examine the room around him.

It was a plain grey stone-walled affair, with a dark wood floor that seemed to have been scrubbed recently – Newt pushing aside the disturbingly likely idea that it had been cleaned of his own blood. There was a cushioned wooden sitting in the corner of the room, by the singular door that was also made of dark wood and looked to only hold an old iron handle and no visible lock. Newt flicked his gaze back down as he pushed himself slowly, gingerly into a more upright position against the metal headboard. His weak arms nearly gave out on him a moment later however, as he happened to glance back at the chair in the corner.

It was now occupied by a newspaper-reading Gellert Grindelwald, sitting there as if he had been there all along. He did not even glance in Newt's direction as the younger man let out a rather embarrassing squeak of surprise and scrabbled himself further up against the wall, eying Grindelwald warily. The man seemed to be entirely unphased by Newt's presence and flicked through several more pages of what looked to be ' _The Daily Prophet_ ', before folding the paper with one neat crease and setting it aside on the chair as he then stood.

Newt found his breathing increasing as the man approached him, coming to stand beside the bed that the young Magizoologist was currently occupying; he couldn't seem to control the reaction and could feel his heart pounding faster by the second. He knew that it was just a physiological reaction to being near a man who had already caused him so much pain, but the panic made him feel weak and he didn't like it.

Newt pushed himself up as far in the bed as he could whilst still keeping the blanket wrapped loosely around his waist, as to retain what was left of his dignity. He glared up at the elder wizard, experiencing unpleasant flashes of memory flitting to the forefront of his mind as he did so – the lashes, shocks and screams he had endured at the circus rally.

There was not much he could do to stop Grindelwald from doing whatever he wanted to him, but he was damn sure that he wasn't going to take the punishment lying down. He may not be able to stand… or move much at all really, but he could still demonstrate his unbroken mental state in the ways left to him.

Grindelwald raised an eyebrow in apparent bemusement at the show of defiance, before speaking in a mollifying tone. "I would have thought that after my demonstration yesterday, you would have lost some of that stubbornness and perhaps come to accept the truth I have been showing you."

Newt scoffed slightly, letting out a bitter huff of laughter at the other wizard's presumptuousness and evasive language – he could at least have the decency to call torture what it was by now, surely? What was the point in the continued façade of compassion at this stage? It wasn't like Newt was going to suddenly believe in Grindelwald's fanatical cause after a few speeches - he should have already realized that his methods had so far proved ineffectual.

"I don't know if you expected me to swear fealty to you and start parading around the streets of Paris singing about freedom and tyranny, but I'm afraid that I have to inform you its not going to happen." He huffed out another shaky half-laugh that did not reach his blue eyes, which were gleaming with barely repressed panic.

Grindelwald did not seem amused in the slightest by Newt's coping mechanisms, but for once, he did not display his disapproval in a violent manner, instead he sat on the edge of the bed beside him. Newt's eyes widened slightly, and he scooted across the bed as much as he could, into the corner of the bed and wall. He wished that Grindelwald would just _stop_ with all these unnerving attempts at tenderness.

Every instinct in Newt's body was telling him to move as far away from the elder wizard as possible. The Magizoologist had relied upon his fine-tuned instincts around enough dangerous creatures to know when there was a predator nearby. And Grindelwald was most definitely that. He preyed upon the weaknesses of others and played around with them until the prey was ready for him to use… and then discarded the remains when they no longer of value to him.

Grindelwald seemed to notice Newt's reaction to him, he did not move away, but neither did he attempt to press forward. Newt swallowed and decided to take advantage of Grindelwald's seemingly passive manner – no matter how temporary it may be. "You do realise that I'm not going to help you, don't you? Surely there are other people you could use to lure Dumbledore into whatever trap you have planned for him."

Newt took a deep breath, keeping his gaze on his own blanketed knees and his hands fidgeted restlessly with one another in his lap. He wasn't going to make the mistake of looking directly at Grindelwald again. "I know you gave me the excuses about my 'perceptiveness' and… affinity with magical creatures being important to your cause… but surely that would not be worth more to you then Credence's…abilities…"

He trailed off, unsure of how to voice all the questions that were swirling around in his mind like a swarm of feeding Grindylow – each concern eating up the tail of the next until they were an indiscernible mess of words in his foggy head. He felt Grindelwald shift slightly on the mattress beside him and had to force himself not to glance up on instinct – it was probably what the man wanted. When several uncomfortably long moments had passed, Newt risked glancing up at the man's lower face, seeing his lips pressed together in a thin line beneath his moustache, as if he were attempting to supress a frown.

"I will admit that when I first sought out Credence, I was indeed looking for a way to defeat Albus, should he prove to be… unpersuadable to the cause." Newt saw him pause, lips pursing for moment before he continued.

"But I soon realised he was more than a weapon to be used. I saw that he was worth more than I had anticipated… a lonely boy - abused and shunned by those who did not understand him. As I have said before, it is a suffering I once knew well, and I recognise that same pain in both you and Credence. Perseverance and perception are attributes often born of isolated, dark experiences in life – we who have spent years observing others from the outskirts of life, know better than most the conviction of true belief. With little else to cling onto, we establish credence in one thing or another and let that guide us. The boy was perhaps aptly named after all."

Grindelwald's hand was now gripping Newt's in a firm, beckoning gesture, and Newt fought to keep his gaze away from those hypnotic eyes, shifting awkwardly under the intense scrutiny. "You chose to dedicate your life and heart to your creatures, and I to the fight for freedom... Albus once did the same, before he turned his attention to his new 'calling' in teaching." His lips twisted slightly, as if tasting something bitter in the last few words.

"I now seek out Credence to give him a purpose of his own – he wishes to discover his heritage, and I intend to give that to him... in one manner or another" The grip on Newt's hand suddenly turned crushingly tight and he gasped slightly, attempting to retract his hand, but finding himself unable to do so. "I very much wish that you had not turned Credence away from me in Paris. It has… led me to make a decision that I would have rather avoided. I meant what I said before - I did not wish for you to suffer more than is necessary."

"W-what do you mean?" Newt asked, finally allowing his gaze to snap up to meet Grindelwald's at the answer that left the man's mouth.

"If your brother succeeds in convincing Albus to come to me, and he proves to be continually obstinate to the truth… it will be our final encounter. You are going to be what allows me kill him, Newt."

Newt felt the bottom of his empty stomach fall away into a black void that seemed to consume all his insides, before slowly, inexorably pulling away at the last tatters of his abused mind. "N-no, I won't do t-that. I would _never_ do that."

Grindelwald tilted his head slightly to the side, his mismatched eyes shining with something Newt could not even begin to describe, his hand dropping Newt's and moving it to cup the side of his face. Newt attempted to flinch away but found himself stuck between the wall he was pressed against and the wizard in front of him. "I hope that it will not come to that, Newt, but if it does, then it _will_ happen in one of three ways."

Newt's heart was constricting tighter and tighter in his chest with every word that left Grindelwald's lips – it felt as though he was suffocating. "The first, would be that you choose to do as I ask with no fuss and no one else will be hurt." Newt was shaking his head softly before the man had finished speaking, pressing himself harder into the wall behind him in a vain attempt to escape those horrible words and the eyes that were trying to lure him in.

"The second, would be that I perform the _Imperius_ curse upon you – against my better wishes – and have you complete the task… as well as doing anything else I so desired." Newt was shivering violently now, witnessing the cruel glint shining in Grindelwald's mismatched eyes. The last shreds of sanity in the dark wizard were long gone now.

"Or the third, would be that I seek out Credence using the help of my newly acquired Legilimens, and start hurting people until I provoke the Obscurus to appear. Most likely destroying anything that happened to be nearby."

Grindelwald looked down at the stricken Newt with fiery eyed intensity. "Now which option sounds best to you, Newt?"

 **A/N – Sorry about the delays old chaps and thank you VERY, VERY much for the stunning, thoughtful, heart-warming and absolutely amazing reviews from everyone thus far!**

 **Btw, is anyone getting the music quotes in the intros or the multi-fandom references in the chapters thus far? Am I being too subtle or obscure?**

 **As a side note on the topic of the blood oath – I know that it would be unlikely for Dumbldore and Grindelwald to have made the bond after Ariana's death, but it was the only way it would make canon sense. Breaking a blood oath is supposedly fatal, so they would HAVE to of made it after that fight. Maybe J.K Rowling has another explanation, but for now this is my one.**

 **But I digress, please follow, favourite and review as I crave feedback and praise like the attention junky I am. Feed me! (Git it?)**


	13. 13 - 'Empty'

" **Say a prayer for me, help me to feel the strength I did. My identity, has it been taken? Is my heart breakin' on me? All my plans fell through my hands; they fell through my hands, on me. All my dreams, it suddenly seems, it suddenly seems…empty…" – 'Empty' – The Cranberries**

 **Trigger warnings for anyone with mental health issues. (More specifically so than any of the previous chapters)**

"What makes you think that I would ever be _able_ to kill Dumbledore?" Newt asked in a soft, shaky voice that somehow managed to not shake as much as his body was. The trembles had not stopped since he had woken and the tight tension in his chest would still not let up.

"Albus cares enough for you that I don't believe he would be able to mount a proper fight against anything I would have you do." Grindelwald replied, a familiar bitterness inundating his tone, his hand tightening upon Newt's cheek painfully, before loosening the grip to run a thumb along the offended cheek. Newt shivered, the pressure rising further inside of him.

"He would find a way to incapacitate me before I could hurt him, or anyone else." Newt whispered, as if trying to convince himself as well as the older wizard, who smirked slightly at the show of doubt.

"I know Albus better than you do, Newt - he has always had a weak spot for broken yet recalcitrant things. If he saw you in a position of… vulnerability, if you were suffering, his good sense would leave him in the wake of his affection for you." Grindelwald's eyes gleamed as Newt shrank away from him, pressing himself harder into the wall, hoping that he could just sink _through_ it and disappear away from the other wizard's less than stable gaze.

Newt knew that Grindelwald was probably right. From the memories Dumbledore had allowed Newt to share, he knew that his mentor's love for Grindelwald had once all but blinded him to all the horrible things he had said and done. That was, until he had attempted to use the Cruciatus Curse upon Aberforth and started that fateful duel. It had been then that Dumbledore had broken through the haze of what he tricked himself into thinking was cold, hard logic – but was in fact the exact opposite - and instead had let his deeper emotions overtake everything else. It had been what set Ariana off.

Whilst Newt wasn't sure if he meant enough to Dumbledore to provoke a similar reaction, he did not want to wait around to find out. There was no decent option that Grindelwald was offering him. He would just have to make up a fourth for himself. The only idea he could come up with however, would not be pleasant at all. In fact, he was positive that it would almost certainly kill him. But… in the face of the possibilities of either having his free will torn away from him, or having poor Credence provoked into killing Dumbledore through the suffering of countless others… well… Newt could not allow it to happen.

Swallowing hard and steeling every iota of courage he had left in him, Newt turned his gaze up to meet Grindelwald's own. The wizard looked seemed slightly nonplussed by the show of willpower and when Newt took a firm grip of Grindelwald's caressing hand and pushed it forcefully away, the man let him. Probably more out of surprise rather than any strength on Newt's part, but he put the thought to the back of his mind, as he opened his mouth to most likely seal his own fate.

"You claim that Dumbledore is the one who has been manipulating me, but even if that were true, how is it any worse than what you are doing to me now? Or what you did to him then?" Newt demanded, feeling the pressure build further in his chest, anticipating the violent retaliation that was likely about to come his way. He welcomed it. He might just be able to goad the elder wizard into ending his twisted games now… before he could make Newt hurt anyone.

"You _manipulated_ his feelings for you so that he would overlook your madness and evil intentions. He was too blinded by his love for you to acknowledge what you were until your selfishness and cruelty _killed his sister_!"

Grindelwald's already chalk-white face turned paler than Newt would have thought possible, with rage flashing like molten silver in a storm, inside his mismatched eyes. The elder man stood up abruptly from the bed, as if Newt's words had burned him, as if he was trying to distance himself from Newt, lest he lose control. The Magizoologist knew he was close to trapping the man, he pushed himself shakily to the edge of the bed, balancing heavily on the bedframe as he half-stood on his one sound leg. The pain that ricocheted through him at the ill-advised movement was difficult to ignore, but he did so as best he could – it probably wouldn't matter soon anyway.

He tried to channel his inner Theseus as he spewed out the unforgiving truths. Swallowing down the guilt he felt at the harsh words that were tumbling from his lips, Newt continued with shaking limbs and heavy heart resting somewhere in his throat. "You try to hide behind your clever words, your false acts of compassion and your power, but all you are is a selfish, cruel coward! I'm surprised that Dumbledore didn't see you for what you were sooner." Newt took a deep, preparing breath before finishing in a hoarse whisper, glaring back at Grindelwald through watering blue eyes. "The real reason he doesn't want to face you probably has nothing to do with your Blood-oath – he just can't face the idea that he ever cared for someone as damaged as you."

Although he knew it was coming, Newt still couldn't hold in his yells of pain as Grindelwald finally snapped, lashing out with a large portion of his immense power in violent slashes from his wand. Newt was struck with a tirade of unadulterated magic – blue lightening, the Cruciatus curse, stinging hexes, slicing jinxes and a number of other spells that seemed to just be pure, brute force. He did not even register his agonized shrieks or falling back against the wall. He didn't register anything at all anymore.

Just pain. Pain, pain, pain. _It just didn't stop._

Newt could not even hope to begin to slow his breathing now, there was no amount of self-control he could muster to keep calm. He shook and felt different, entirely new shooting pains begin to run through his chest and down his arms, causing him to jerk violently and slide down the wall to slump on the bed. Newt's face was shining with sweat and tears, but all he could do was shiver as it felt like an icy sensation was gripping his heart and chilling his very blood. His vision dimmed, and he lost any last traces of awareness of what was going on around him. He couldn't feel anything other than the unforgiving vice that was cinching itself tighter around his heart.

Everything was fading into a mass of hazy white dots that suffused his vision like a snowstorm. The last thing his fading vision registered was Gellert Grindelwald's intense silver and blue eyes penetrating him, before his senses were overcome. He didn't know what was happening, or why, but there was one thing he was sure of however – he was dying. The scariest part of it was not that his life was ending…it was that he didn't really care. There was a part of him that welcomed the soft blankness he could sense nearby… so close now….it seemed so peaceful, so easy.

The blankness was not like the commonly described 'light at the end of a tunnel', it was more as if it was just a continuation of the emptiness he was slowly being engulfed in, but somehow less painful. Newt had never considered himself to be suicidal or one who hated life - he had in fact always sought to protect it wherever he found it - but this soft ending felt so much more welcoming than he could have ever imagined.

It terrified him to think that Grindelwald had reduced him to a state where giving up was preferable to living, but the soft emptiness offered such a tempting opportunity to just… not care about that anymore… or anything ever again.

Even that horror was softening and falling away from him now, the icy sensation in his chest numbing everything away… it was all just floating away… so serenely...

And that was why it came at as an appalling wrench to his much-abused heart when the emptiness was suddenly _ripped_ away.

Newt gasped and jolted upwards as if he had broken the surface of a deep lake. His eyes flew wide and he drew in great, sharp lungfuls of air as an unpleasant tingling sensation dissipated throughout his chest. The shocked feeling burned away the ice in his bloodstream and left searing, stinging heat in its wake.

He fell back hard against the cushions of the bed, continuing to breath heavily as his brain slowly began to function properly again. He lay there more several long minutes, simply focussing upon drawing air _in_ and _out_ and waiting for the burning in his chest to lessen. It felt like much later when he felt a hand tap the side of his face, lightly at first and he blinked confusedly before there was a sharper slap that shocked his brain back into cognition.

"That was a _very_ stupid thing to do, Newt!"The words were hissed furiously through gritted teeth that hovered mere inches above his own face. He didn't even have the strength to attempt to flinch away from the other man. His abused, overtaxed body and mind could not keep up the fight any longer. The prolonged agony it had been exposed to over the past few minutes, hours and _days_ had finally caught up with him. The lack of a reprieve and the constant stress of his situation had caused him to experience what Newt now realised had been a heart attack. He had nearly _died_.

But it still hadn't been enough. It seemed that Grindelwald had reigned in his rage enough to bring Newt back from the brink of death itself. He was still going to force him to kill Dumbledore. He had _failed_.

Newt was not aware of the tears streaming freely down his reddened cheeks or the sobs that wrenched themselves from his chest unbidden. He did not think of his unclothed, vulnerable state. He just couldn't bring himself to care about something as insignificant as his dignity in front of a man who already taken nearly everything from him.

 _You're wrong, Newt. He hasn't taken everything. You are still alive. Your brother is still alive. Your creatures are still safe, and your friends are still coming to find you. You are a stubborn bugger and you_ will _get through this._

The voice that sounded in his mind startled his eyes open, glancing frantically around for the non-existent speaker, but the only other person in the room was Grindelwald. The man was seemingly preoccupied as he now stood in the furthest corner, a hand raised to his forehead as he faced away from Newt. The voice was familiar, but in a way that he couldn't quite put his finger on. The words sounded like they could have come from Theseus, but the voice didn't sound quite like him, but… was still familiar in a strange, distant way.

No matter where it had come from, he couldn't help but cling onto it's reassuring words. He could not give up now, not after everything he had endured. The least he owed his friends and family was that he would fight until the bloody, bitter end. He would find a way to defeat Grindelwald – even if it really did kill him for good in the end.

Theseus had often referred to him as being a pig-headed fool; why not use that to his advantage? Pig-headed was just another word for strength, and foolishness was often interchangeable with bravery. Newt had survived bullying, abandonment, beatings, expulsion, a war, numerous dangerous magical beasts, poachers, dark wizards, Aurors, an Obscurial and even Gellert Grindelwald himself. He could do this. He had to. He _would_.

He forced himself to remember everything that had not yet forsaken him, the things that he could draw hope and strength from.

Tina's kind, Salamander-like eyes and her truly admirable dedication to justice.

Queenie's bubbly littles eccentricities and knack for getting into your heart as well as your head.

Jacob's loyalty, humour and his childlike wonder at the wizarding world.

Pickett's cheeky, loyal, protective nature

Percival's dark, brooding gaze, refreshing patience and helpfully blunt manner.

Frank's stubborn pride and sparingly friendly moments

Theseus's fondness for hugging and his poorly articulated attempts at older-brotherly affection.

Pulling on the memories of his human and creature friends alike, he refocussed his vacant gaze in order to glare up at Grindelwald with everything he had left in him. He struggled with almost inordinate amounts of energy in order to send the instructions to his deadened limbs to move him into a wilted sitting position.

The utterly stunned expression upon the wizard's face was almost worth the complete agony Newt was currently experiencing, and it made him smile, just a little.

He couldn't dredge up the strength to move away from Grindelwald as he moved forwards once more, wand raised. Instead, he raised his chin in defiance, clenching his jaw in an attempt to keep in any sounds that could give away his weakness in the no doubt inevitable onslaught. Grindelwald was becoming predictable in his trigger reactions – he could ironically enough, probably take anger management lessons from Theseus. Even his elder brother seemed to have a better grasp on his temper than Grindelwald did at the moment.

Newt allowed himself a small smile at the idea that he had managed to get under the skin of the darkest wizard of all time. Grindelwald may be an expert manipulator, but Newt now knew how to provoke the man, should the need arise again. Not that he enjoyed bringing up painful subjects – he didn't, at all, it just wasn't in his nature to ever be cruel – but it felt reassuring to know that he was not as helpless as he had once thought.

"Seeing as how you seem to be _quite so adamant_ upon prolonging your own suffering…" Grindelwald began in cold, barely contained fury, his fingers holding tight around his wand as he levelled it at Newt. "I believe that it would be best if I took that stubbornness away from you… along with everything else."

Newt only had a moment to brace himself for what he had feared more than anything else – his free will being stripped from him – before Grindelwald pointed his wand in a jabbing motion and intoned the dreaded curse. " _Imperio."_

It was the a horrifyingly familiar feeling – far too similar to the sensation of floating close to death. Newt felt detached from himself as every thought and worry in his head was gently wiped away, leaving nothing but a vague, untraceable blankness.

He could only watch on like a distant onlooker from a corner of his own mind, as Grindelwald ordered him to rise to his feet. Newt felt his body obeying the order, even as his abused, drained limbs protested the movement, in conjunction with his mind's protests. Both were ignored, and the searing cacophony of pain flared through him as he stood in front of the dark wizard - not even being able to shiver despite his injured, terrified and undressed state.

The small pocket of himself he had retained hated the smug smirk that played upon Grindelwald's pale lips as he stepped forward to stroke the younger man's throat. At a nonverbal command from Grindelwald, Newt found himself leaning into the gesture and could only feel his horror in that little fragment of remaining sanity.

"Much better." Grindelwald's voice was almost a purr and had Newt been able to, he would have gagged at the sickening satisfaction he could feel rolling off the other wizard. "I should have done this earlier… even if I do enjoy your little rebellions, you are of much more use to me this way."

Grindelwald brushed his hand softly down Newt's arm in an unnerving caress, before seemingly shaking himself back into a more business-like manner – still smirking down at Newt, however. "Let's begin, shall we?"

 **A/N – Hello people! Thank you for the customarily amazing responses that have been the absolute light of my days as of late – you guys are just shiny. APU feedback is craved – especially constructive criticism if you can think of any suggestions? LOYA.**

 **Have added this fic to Ao3 btw, as per a suggestion in the reviews!**


	14. Chapter 14

" **I don't want to see you go, I don't even want to be there, I will cover up my eyes and pray it goes away. You've only lived a minute of your life, I must be dreaming, please stop screaming. I don't like to hear you cry, you just don't know how deep that cuts me, so I will cover up my eyes and it will go away…" – 'Steven' – Alice Cooper**

In the end, Theseus had broken his middle finger, fractured his knuckles and somehow dislocated a toe on his right foot. Tina and the other Aurors had all tried to calm him down in any way they could think of – cajoling, scolding or reassuring him as he repeatedly slammed his fists and feet into anything he could reach. It had made no difference to him what they said or did. Newt was gone. _Again_. He had been _so close_ to rescuing his little brother, but he had _failed_.

He had not been strong enough, not been fast enough, not been clever enough. There must have been _something_ he could have done to prevent Grindelwald from taking his brother away from him… but whatever it was, he had failed to do it. Theseus was the head of the British Auror department and a decorated war hero, but he still hadn't been able to pre-empt or dodge one _stupid_ paralyzing spell. Not even from Grindelwald himself – from a lackey! A lackey who he had already defeated once - with ease! Why couldn't he have seen it coming this time? When it really mattered.

The look upon Newt's face as Grindelwald had disapparated had etched itself into his retinas, even when he closed his eyes, he could still the agony and wretchedness – the utter desperation in his brother's sea-blue eyes. It was enough to send his self-detrimental rage into overdrive.

The only thing that managed to eventually bring him out of his red haze of fury was a hard punch to the face. Theseus staggered back a few steps in shock as the pain suddenly registered in his crimson-hazed mind. Percival Graves stepped forward with him, shaking out his slightly reddened knuckles, barely even looking down at the offended hand and instead levelling a heavy stare at Theseus.

The fellow head Auror glared back at him in afront for several moments, before allowing the rage to slowly deflate from him, his shoulders slumping and his injured hands beginning to quiver. Now that the adrenaline was leaving him, he could register the pain properly and hissed a little but did not take his eyes from the still-tense Graves.

"You cannot let yourself lose control, Scamander." Graves' voice was even harder than usual as he reached forward to grip Theseus' shoulder tightly. "While I will admit that caring is an important part of us what makes us what we are - if we all let our emotions override our senses, no good will be achieved and no one would ever be saved. Newt deserves better than this."

Theseus clenched his jaw but nodded softly. He knew that the other man was right, he registered the familiar truth in the words; even if his fraternal feelings had temporarily overridden his better judgement. With the sudden subsidence of the blazing rage, Theseus could now feel a hollow pit in the bottom of his stomach that seemed to be drawing upon his strength. He began to suddenly realise just how long it had been since he had eaten or slept.

The search for Newt had consumed his attentions enough that he had barely realised that it had been nearly three days since he had slept. He had gone this long without eating before, whilst in the army, so the hunger was largely something that could be ignored. But even someone as stubborn as Theseus knew that he would end up working himself into the ground if he continued to push his body like this. He would need to be focussed and sound of body before he faced Grindelwald again. Two days – that had been Grindelwald's arbitrary deadline for Dumbledore to face him and he was damn sure he was going to be there. He could carry on for just a bit longer before he ran himself into the ground. He had to. For Newt - for his stupid, sweet little brother.

Looking back at Graves, he could see the prolonged effect that Grindelwald's words had inflicted upon him, his customarily severe face was just that much more lined with tension and his brown eyes were shimmering somewhere between self-control and a barely contained form of wild panic. It was probable that his memories of his imprisonment were resurfacing. Judging from Grindelwald's mocking, sadistic words, it seemed that he inflicted more suffering upon the man than Theseus or anyone else had realised…Except for Newt.

Newt had seemed to see wounds beyond just the physical in him, it was probably why he had insisted on staying with Graves in the hospital in New York - despite not really knowing the man. Theseus had whiled away the day that Newt had spent in the infirmary watching over Graves, in the American Ministry; sorting out his brother's mess. He still wasn't sure how close the two men were in all honesty but judging from the concern he was now seeing in Graves' eyes, he gathered that they were better friends than he had originally thought.

Newt may not be very good with people on a more general scale, but the friends he seemed to have collected as of late were of a good sort. Loyal and understanding of Newt's awkward nature – it was just what Theseus had wanted for his brother. Newt had seemed so lonely after being expelled - even with his creature friends - Theseus had seen the effect that losing Leta had had on him. They had drifted apart after Newt was forced to leave Hogwarts and she had been the only friend that Theseus had been aware Newt had – except for maybe Dumbledore, but a teacher was not a suitable sole companion for a young man to have.

Looking at Graves now, he could see the immense strain the man was under – just _how_ hard he was trying not to break. If someone who had undergone anything like what Newt was going through now, could carry on, then so could he. He had never been very good at offering any sort of comfort to other men, but he patted Graves on the shoulder awkwardly and offered him a tight smile. The man gave him a gauging look for a moment or two, before returning with a thin twitch of his hard-set lips - it looked like an icy puddle cracking.

With that awkwardness out of the way, Theseus took a moment to glance about the tent, taking in the chaos that had been left in the battle's wake. There were rally-goers and Aurors strewn about the tent in varying states of unconsciousness, injury and even some who looked to be dead. It was a bloody mess. He didn't look forward to having to go through the paperwork involved here or having to report the news to grieving families - it was one of the more harrowing parts of his job. Having dealt with many a sight of bloody battle fields, he could detach himself somewhat from the horror of the scene, but the aftermath was always something that got to him – bringing the pain to the loved ones of the deceased.

The two Aurors who had flanked Tina – Johnston and an unknown-to-him American, were checking upon the wounded and giving care where they could. At the sight, Theseus reminded himself of his own injuries and took a minute to perform several quick, yet effective healing charms to alleviate the damage he had inflicted upon himself. He sighed in relief as the bones fixed themselves back together and the pain lessened - while he would probably need to visit a healer to get them properly looked at later, it would do for now. He had become proficient enough in patch-up job magic in the army – just healing himself and others enough so that they could be gotten to a healer. First-aid magic was a decidedly useful skill and one that he insisted all his Aurors mastered, much to the complaints of the department.

With that done, he turned his attention to Tina, who was standing by the entrance to the tent with her back to him, but he could see her shoulders shaking slightly, as if she were crying. Concerned, Theseus strode over to her, gently placing a hand on her shoulder, she turned slightly, wiping at her tears fiercely with one hand as she saw it was him. He offered her a weak smile and her hand halted in its movements, fresh tears springing into her eyes and a choked sob left her.

"Are you alright?" Theseus asked, a bit lamely, but he didn't know what else to say. Had it been Leta standing there sobbing he would have known exactly what to do – pulling her forward into a warm ebrace and holding her until the tears subsided… but that would improper here…. Wouldn't it?

"F-first Newt and n-now Q-queenie… I d-don't know what Abernathy did to her… or if she's even still alive…" Tina choked on another sob as Theseus stepped forward against his better judgement to embrace her, pulling the smaller Auror close to his chest and feeling her cry harder against his shoulder before she continued in a hoarse whisper. "B-but… I'm going to mak-ke s-sure that b-both he and Grindelwald get what's c-coming to them."

Theseus nodded gravely and allowed her to pull back from him after a minute, not saying anything as she scrubbed furiously at her face to remove any traces of her tears. Theseus withdrew his monogrammed handkerchief from his inside pocket and gave it to Tina, who smiled a watery smile up at him.

When she had finished and seemed to have collected herself, she looked back up at Theseus with a hardened look in her coffee-coloured eyes. It was a look that Theseus was sure he mirrored in his own gaze. It was one of determination trumping anguish in order to save someone they loved… or failing that, damn well being sure of getting their revenge.

"Scamander, Goldstein, could you come over here please?" Graves' voice was strained and the two Aurors acquiesced to his request, Theseus with the hollow feeling in his stomach increasing. Graves was holding some sort of silver trinket aloft, frowning at it as red liquid swirled around inside of the glass - twisting like some sort of bloody snake.

There was a jarring click in Theseus' mind as he realised the trinket was what Newt had ripped from Grindelwald's waistcoat. The thing he had dropped by Theseus' head. Clearly his brother must have thought it important if he had gone to the effort of stealing it while in as much pain as he had been.

"What is that?" Tina asked from beside him, frowning at both the pendant and Graves in confusion. Theseus was almost as puzzled as Tina - he may know where it came from, but he had no better understanding of what it was. Graves, however, seemed to have a much better idea and grimaced at the object with a furrowed brow.

"If I'm not mistaken, I believe that this is a blood-binding charm – it is used to bind a pact between individuals with an almost unbreakable blood-bond." Graves' tone was clipped, and Theseus' frown deepened.

"But Newt got it from Grindelwald – I saw him take it. Why would Grindelwald have such a thing? Who would ever make-" Theseus cut himself off midsentence as it finally clicked in his head. Dumbledore. It was why the man refused to fight Grindelwald. He literally couldn't.

Newt must have figured this out whilst being Grindelwald's captive and had stolen the trinket to try to give them a way of fighting back against the dark wizard. His ridiculous, clever little brother had given them a chance to get Dumbledore on their side – the one wizard who stood a good chance at beating him. All they had to do was get the charm to Dumbledore and find a way for him to break it. Then, when Grindelwald's deadline came around, they might just have a hope of finally defeating him.

A slightly manic grin spread across Theseus' face that seemed to greatly unnerve both Graves and Tina, who both looked at him like he had gone insane. He let out a bark of harsh laughter and ran a hand through his hair as he took the charm abruptly from Graves' startled grip.

"Newt has given us a way to fight back!" Theseus exclaimed, feeling impatient as the other two did not seem to immediately catch on. " _This_ is what is stopping Dumbledore from getting involved! He is blood-bound not to. If we can find a way to destroy this-"

"We could enlist the help of Albus Dumbledore in challenging Grindelwald." Graves finished, a small curve turned up the corners of his lips in what looked to be alarmingly close to actual hope.

"Then we need to get back to England to give this to Dumbledore as soon as possible." Tina stated, and the other Aurors nodded in agreement, each turning on the spot, apparating away from the awful remnants of the circus and reappearing outside the French Ministry for Magic. It was still chaos inside and around the building, but the three of them managed to find a safe Floo-network connection back to the British Ministry building.

From there, they then took a registered Port-key to Hogsmeade village and were forced to walk the rest of the way to the actual Hogwarts Castle. As they were making the long trek up the hill - the Thestral-drawn carriages absent as the school year had already begun - Tina commented, rather irritably, that it would have been an awful lot easier to just apparate.

Theseus gave a snort of exasperated laughter at the remark and informed her that while she was correct, there was strictly no way to apparate into or out of the Hogwarts grounds. Everyone knew that. Unless of course, you were a House-elf or had specially requested the warding spells to be repealed by the headmaster. There had really been no time to contact ahead and put in such a request, so the convoluted journey was what they had to resort to instead.

It was odd returning to Hogwarts now - even though it wasn't the first time he had returned since his graduation, what with Newt's issues at school and subsequent expulsion, but it felt strange to be here now, after well over ten years. Some things did not change however; as they walked up the main drive, Theseus could see red and blue robed figures on broomsticks, soaring high above the Quidditch pitch and could hear the yells and hoots coming from the stands. It seems there was a Gryffindor vs Ravenclaw match on today – it felt decidedly strange to see such a familiar, childhood sight amidst all the horror that Theseus was experiencing.

As they entered through the main gate, into the room adjoining the Great Hall, a group of students slowed in their pace to curiously eye the three Aurors; all clearly excited to see such odd-looking individuals in the school. Theseus supposed that he and Tina especially looked very strange, what with all the tight-fitting black leather and red silk respectively. Now, more than ever, he dimly wished that Queenie Goldstein understood the ideas of modesty and subtlety. Being dressed so ridiculously in a school felt just wrong.

Seeing the children snapped him back into himself, however – remembering precisely why he was here. He was here to gain help to save his little brother. Even if Newt was no longer entirely the gangly, messy haired, awkward young idiot he had been, there was a part of Theseus that would always think of him as much. It didn't help that Newt still had the face of an innocent, eternally-optimistic youth. His protective feelings towards Newt had only increased after their mother's death - only three years after Newt's expulsion and Theseus had taken to mothering over him in her place. And what a bang-up job he had done as of late.

"Scamander?" Graves's voice cut through his ponderings and Theseus only then realised that he had stopped and was staring at where the group of students had been with a vacant expression. He shook himself and led the way through the long, winding, still-familiar corridors of the castle to where the Defence against the Dark Arts classroom was. Luckily, his years of absence had not made him completely ignorant to the school's layout and the classroom was still found on the first floor – housed inside the North Tower.

As Theseus approached the door to the classroom, he could hear a familiar voice issuing from inside, he hesitated for a moment outside, feeling the absurd urge to knock overcoming him for a moment. He was no longer the wide-eyed, eager student he once was. Theseus pushed through his thoughts and the door at the same time - startling the group of fourth years, and interrupting what appeared to be a duelling session between Dumbledore and a chubby faced boy.

"We don't mean to interrupt, but there is a rather urgent matter that needs to be discussed with Professor Dumbledore." Theseus addressed the students, inclining his head pointedly towards the door he had just come in by. The students looked confusedly to Dumbledore, who sighed and put his wand away.

"Our lesson for today must be cut short, I'm afraid. I expect to see you all here on Thursday with your assignments completed." Dumbledore spoke to the group and they all moved to retrieve their belongings before filing out of the classroom.

The chubby faced boy slowed as he passed Theseus, levelling a surprisingly stubborn glare at him. "He's the best teacher we've got."

"Thanks, McLagan, but I don't believe that Mr Scamander is here to cause me any harm." Dumbledore said quietly, and the boy left, letting the door close loudly behind him. Theseus looked over to see Dumbledore leant against his desk, hands in pockets and a grave expression upon his face.

"Was I right to comfort McLagan, or should I begin clearing out my office now?" Dumbledore's tone was light and conversational, but his bright blue eyes betrayed his slight wariness.

"We were unable to apprehend Grindelwald in Paris." Theseus began, his voice was steady, but he knew that his eyes were reflecting the pain he felt as images of Newt's torture flickered, unbidden through his mind. "We need your help, now more than ever."

Dumbledore's eyes shone with his own deeply ingrained pain as he straightened, moving his arms to cross over his chest instead, and Theseus swore he could see a very slight tremble in his hands. "I _am_ sorry, but I still cannot move against Grindelwald. Nothing has changed in that respect."

"I think _this_ might be able to help with that." Theseus said, removing the blood-binding trinket from the pocket of the ridiculous leather coat he was still wearing and held the silver charm up for Dumbledore to see.

There was a flash of shock on Dumbledore's weathered face and he surged forward to closer examine the object. He reached a hand up slowly, pausing for several seconds before closing his trembling fingers around it. The teacher shuddered, and his eyes slipped closed for several moments, as if he were overwhelmed by a rush of emotions at touching the silver pendant. When they opened again, Dumbledore's eyes were shining with unshed tears – sorrow and a twisted form of reluctance seeming to war for dominance inside the bright blue orbs.

"How in the name of _Merlin_ did you manage to get...?" Dumbledore could not seem to finish his sentence as his eyes sought out an explanation in Theseus' face and the younger wizard offered a small smile, just a slight curve of the lips.

"Newt." He said simply.

Dumbledore's eyes slipped closed and he took a step back, clearly trying to regain some of his composure. It was a minute later that he opened them again and regarded Theseus with sorrow and regret clear in his gaze. "H-how-"He swallowed "How was he?"

"Grindelwald was flaying him to within an inch of his life when we intervened." Theseus' tone was tight with barely repressed rage. His hands clenched at his sides hard enough to leave bleeding halfmoon shapes in his palms, as he fought to remain in control of his reaction to the awful memories. "But it wasn't enough, he escaped with Newt and left us alive only to deliver you a message."

Dumbledore raised a shaky hand to press over his mouth, his moist eyes distressed as he regarded Theseus. "He wants you to meet him in less than two days' time at Nurmengard Castle or… he says he will ensure that Newt suffers as long as you live."

Dumbledore turned away from him, leaning heavily upon his desk with slightly shaking arms and shoulders hunched over. Theseus grew impatient with the lack of anything useful from the other wizard and stepped over to grip him hard by the shoulder, leaning down to hiss in his ear. "I'm afraid that I can't bring myself to care about the _difficulties_ you have believing what Grindelwald is capable of. I don't _care_ if your feelings are getting in the way of you doing what's _right_. All I care about is that my little brother is in the hands of your ex-lover and he is _hurting_ because you won't do anything to stop it."

His tone was laced with enough righteous venom that Dumbledore was now looking back at him through the singular trail of tears that streaked slowly down his bearded, pained face. Theseus could not bring himself to feel guilty as the sounds and images of Newt's suffering replayed inside his mind over and _over_ again. Someone needed to shock the teacher into action, and Theseus _damn well_ had enough unabated anger to spare on the job.

"I have just handed you _exactly_ what you need to stop hiding behind your excuses, now it is up to _you_ to decide whether you are going to do the right thing or not." Theseus' voice was pure ice - cutting and cold. He levelled his glare directly at the other's, as Dumbledore straightened. "Now, can you destroy this or not?"

"I- maybe… yes." Dumbledore sounded uncharacteristically uncertain in himself. The strain of the situation causing the re-emergence of raw memories and old wounds being torn open anew. "I have of course done research into the subject in the past… in the hopes that I could one day find a way to break the pact… but now that I have the binding pendant, I _could_ do it."

"What do you need us to do?" Graves was suddenly standing by them, his gaze seeming to come alive at the opportunity to end Grindelwald – a fire igniting inside him. "We do not have much time left to act before Grindelwald's deadline."

Dumbledore nodded sombrely and seemed to gather himself, steel re-hardening in his usually calm gaze. "There are only two ways I have discovered that can destroy a blood-pact – the first being that one of us dies, but clearly that would be an irrelevant solution as neither of us can harm the other while the pact is in effect."

He took a deep breath and seemed to prepare himself to finally relieve himself of a heavy burden. "The second way is the true reason why I fear Grindelwald has taken such an interest in Newt – the blood-bond can be transferred into a willing, living third party and then destroyed from there. The third participant would have to be of immensely strong will in order to withstand power of the level that would be involved in such a ritual."

All three of the Aurors gaped in dismay at Dumbledore, who's expression betrayed just how deeply the admittance troubled him. This must be why he had never attempted to break the bond before now – he knew that he would have to sacrifice someone else to do so.

Theseus felt dread deepen the sunken, hollow pit inside of his stomach at the implications of the words. Grindelwald likely planned on breaking Newt until he willingly submitted to act as the third participant – it was probably why the wizard had resorted to more brutal methods of torture, rather than manipulating him using the Imperius curse. Or at least to Theseus' knowledge and reckoning.

He could not allow that to happen… but now it seemed that their only hope of defeating Grindelwald was gone. Unless they killed either Grindelwald or Dumbledore the bond would not be broken, and that was an invalid option, as it was likely that only one of them could kill the other.

And the other option… sacrificing someone to destroy the bond… it just wasn't right.

What could he do?

 **A/N – Sorry? (all I'm going to say for now)**

 **Oh, that and thanks APU for the reviews.**


	15. 15 - 'Trust Me'

**"You're a hard game to catch, you fight and refuse, Oh, you're a wild little bruise. Never tasted as sweet, a poison as you have, you know you never can hide." – 'Trust me/The Tale of the Scorpion and the Frog' – Terrence Zdunich from 'The Devil's Carnival'**

The vague, blank, malleable sensation was suffocating the sense left inside Newt's mind at a slow, tortuous rate. It was like a muffling fog that crept inexorably through his brain, whispering all the reasons why he should do _anything_ and _everything_ that was asked of him – by Grindelwald at least. The man's pale, spiderlike fingers repeatedly came to caress his arms, his neck, his cheeks, his chest and seemingly anything that the wizard could get his hands on.

The little pocket of sanity fought against the compulsion to lean into the touches, but that was not enough to override the power of the Elder wand or Grindelwald himself. It was like experiencing a concentrated concoction of potent emotions in a space the size of a penny within his mind. The raging terror, indignation, revulsion and a slew of other unnameable feelings were intense but muted in some useless corner of himself.

Grindelwald's fingers were surprisingly soft to the touch and though they sent waves of unacted shivers through him, Newt felt his eyes follow their movements as they danced along his exposed skin. He could not move due to Grindelwald's order to stay still, but his eyes traced every move that Grindelwald made - from his hands, to the quirks of his lips, the creases around his mismatched eyes and finally to the way his heavy-booted feet stepped almost elegantly around the young Magizoologist. He slowly circled the frozen younger man repeatedly, fingers tracking muscles, veins, wounds, scars – fresh and old along his skin.

"You have not had an easy life have you, Newt?" Despite the murmured question clearly being rhetorical, the curse compelled Newt to reply nonetheless and he shook his head almost mechanically. Grindelwald smirked slightly at the further display of his control over Newt.

With another non-verbal command from the dark wizard, Newt found himself numbly pulling his vest over his head and moving to unwrap the bandages from around his chest. Pain flared hot and sharp through his abused limbs and tender skin at the movements, but he had no way to prevent or express the discomfort other than the tears that welled in his glazed blue eyes. The bandages were removed, breaking open several layers of half-healed skin as the material pulled cracked scabs away with them to be dropped in a bloody heap at Newt's bare feet. Blood began to run in entrancing – or so they seemed to be to Grindelwald - crimson rivulets down from the burn marks and from the numerous lacerations.

Newt was aware of the tears sliding down his freckled cheeks as more of a third-party observer than an actual person and he internally screamed at the challenging look on Grindelwald's smirking face. It was almost as if the wizard was daring him to fight through the magic and stop him; he got the odd feeling he was being challenged - tested even. The pocket of control expanded just a fraction under Newt's mental struggles before the sedating undertones flew in to whisper sweet-nothings in his ears. _You want to do this, it's the right thing to do, he only wants what's best for you and you should let him do whatever he wants. Wouldn't it be so nice to just let someone else decide for you for once, just to let go…_

He was suffocating.

Pale, cool fingers came to trace along a wide strip of raised flesh that halfway encircled Newt's neck; half-hidden by his messy coppery-blonde coloured hair, and usually completely hidden by his collar - now exposed to Grindelwald's faithless gaze. "Tell me…where did this come from, mein haustier?"

Newt's rudimentary grasp of various mainland European languages allowed him to recognise the last part as being German, but he did not speak enough of the tongue to know what it meant. Whatever the words meant however, Grindelwald purred them with something that twisted his insides uncomfortably. It was distinctly possessive.

He fought harder for control of his tongue as the response tumbled from his lips, in a hollow, toneless, detached voice - nothing like Newt's usual soft, stuttering, bumbling tones. "I was nine years old. Theseus was being hurt. I got in the way."

Grindelwald's brows creased as he regarded Newt, bringing the hand not touching the scar to brush against his cheek, smoothing away the tears there with the pad of his thumb. "Who did this to you?" His words and actions were a twisted parody of tender concern that redoubled the struggle inside of Newt's mind. He could feel the borders of the curse giving, just ever so slightly – not enough to stop the response that fell from him, but enough to make him feel a minor jolt of hope. He kept pushing.

"My father did not approve of my mother encouraging me to befriend magical creatures. She tamed Hippogriffs and wanted me to do the same. My father forbade it. He said it was dangerous and juvenile. I carried on going out to the copses near our house to see the herd anyway. Eventually, he grew suspicious and followed me out into the woods. He was very angry. Theseus heard my father yelling - threatening to beat me if I carried on disobeying him. He ran out of the house to help. Things escalated, and my father began beating Theseus with his belt. I moved in to stop him and lost control of my magic for just a moment. The belt buckle nearly blinded my father as it flicked back in his face. I didn't have much time to realise what I had done before he turned the belt on me. He said that he wanted to choke the insolence out of me. That's how I got this"

Newt was struggling harder than ever, gaining inch by precious inch of control - throwing questions and defiance back at the insidious fog of compliance. It was working, but not fast enough. The shameful, personal truth was being ripped from him word by mortifying word. His secrets were being bared to Grindelwald and his fight was _just not enough_ to prevent it from happening.

Grindelwald's smirk was gone now, and his eyes were shining with something that Newt had not seen in them before. Genuine empathy. Not a trick, not a manipulation – even Newt's unwilling, curse clouded mind could tell that the man felt the pain in his words, even if he wasn't expressing it due to the curse… and he had once shared in a similar one. Had he too once had an abusive father? Had he suffered as a child? Was that what had made him become what he was?

It was not uncommon for wizarding families to have a stricter parental figure, as latent magic abilities in children – especially powerful ones – could be uncontrollable and required careful guidance. While many parents handled a child's emerging talents with love, patience and care, there were just as many who took a much harsher approach. Newt's father had been a short-tempered, drunken and decidedly severe man – prone to violence with such regularity that it prompted anyone who witnessed it to wonder why Avemine Scamander had ever married such a man.

To this day, Newt himself did not know the reason behind why his kind, oddball of a mother had married his father, but in many ways, it had been a relief when the Aurors had come to arrest him. As it had later transpired, a neighbour of theirs had been aware of what he had been doing to his children and had finally reported it to the Ministry - but only after Newt had spent two days in St Mungos. That encounter had been what had steered Theseus towards a career in Magical Law Enforcement – seeing the professionals take away the darkest presence in their lives had made him enamoured with the idea. The memories of his earlier life were part of the reason why Newt had such difficulty with interacting with humans - his lack of trust and nervous nature trodden into him at a young age.

It was what had made him timid, but also what had made him strong. What gave him the ability to bend so far without being broken.

And he was being bent now; manipulated cruelly by a man who was even more damaged than he was. A man who drew in those around him – like a black hole. Consuming and destroying those weak or unfortunate enough to be caught in the pull. Newt had been caught in more ways than just the physical sense – he was not just bound to the man by the Imperius curse. The dark allure that Grindelwald held had ensnared Newt without him ever truly realising it – not in a way that made him want to follow the dark wizard; never that. But he was intrigued by what had caused the hairline cracks in his psyche to splinter so uncontrollably that he had become what Newt saw in front of him now.

There was definite vulnerability in his more naturally coloured blue eye as he looked back at Newt. It was not enough to make Newt pity the man, or even want to consider forgiving the atrocities he had committed – he was not foolish enough to be so taken in – but it was enough to pique his curiosity. The voice whose words reminded him of Theseus softly reminded him _It was curiosity that killed the cat…_

"Not all the tracks woven into your body were inflicted by that same ignorant, abusive fool." Grindelwald spoke softly, no trace of coaxing in his voice this time, but there was anger there – quiet and contained. "I can tell that you have suffered from the ignorance of others in more ways than you ever deserved."

Newt carried on chipping away at the cloud in his mind as Grindelwald spoke - not allowing the man's disconcerting change in disposition to be a distraction from the fact that he had tortured and manipulated him. He felt a slight lessening of the fog clouding his senses and felt another small thrill of hope shoot through his cognizant corner.

"I want your honesty in all things, Newt." Grindelwald's voice layered fresh waves of compulsion flowing over the little ground Newt had won and he felt despair claw at the edges of his tiny haven once more.

"What do you think of Albus Dumbledore?" The question caught Newt off-guard and even if he had been able to control his own words, he doubted he would have been able to resist blurting out the truth.

"I believe that he is a good man - I believe that whatever he does, he has his own reasons for." His voice was still as blank and emotionless as before, but Grindelwald seemed dissatisfied with the response.

"Do you truly trust him? What do you think of him as a person? And not just in terms of his morals." Grindelwald was clearly trying to cajole the truth out of him, but in his seemingly raw emotional state he was being sloppier than usual – his true intentions bleeding through.

Newt's corner of control began to grow once more, but still _too slowly_ to stop him from speaking. "I trust that he would never purposefully do anything to hurt anyone unless he had no other choice. Further than that, I would say that I trusted him, with reservations - a man as evasive as he is unwise to trust implicitly."

Grindelwald's eyes shone with something indefinable for a moment before he removed his hands from Newt, clasping them behind his back with a barely noticeable tremor. As he did so, his coat pulled back slightly, allowing newt to glimpse the familiar mother of pearl that shone in the handle of his own wand. Grindelwald still had it on him then! When he looked back up at Newt, his gaze was firmer - as if he were trying to make up for his momentary lapse in character. "What is the nature of your relationship with him? Are you friends? Colleagues? Lovers? I want it in plain terms."

Newt felt his heart rate race, both at Grindelwald's invasive, suggestive queries but also at the gradual increase in his sphere of control. He had not been Imperiused before, but he could feel the cloying fog slipping slowly further away – the trick seemed to lie in not using force to fight the curse, but challenging the insidious, coaxing voices by questioning everything they said. And it was slowly starting to take effect.

"I consider him to be a friend and a mentor, but not anything more." Newt spoke the first part in the curse's induced empty, toneless voice, but the next words began to take on a slight stammer and a hint more of Newt's softer tenors. The strain he was in melting through, if only in a small way, at the embarrassing truth they tore from his lips. "I f-find him an a-attractive man, but my attentions lie e-elsewhere."

So fixated upon the words he was forcing from Newt, Grindelwald did not seem to notice the semblance of control that the younger man was regaining. Nor did he comment upon the slight tremor that was running through Newt as his body began to reassert its cognizant and natural behaviours. The uncursed Newt felt the flush of his previously repressed emotions scorch through him as he dissipated the last of the mental fog - allowing his own will to shine through like sunshine after a storm.

Newt remained as still and blank-faced as he could - trying to lull Grindelwald into a false sense of security, as he warily eyed the handle of his wand poking out from the other wizard's coat. It was incredibly difficult to stand resolute - or at all - with his malformed leg and the numerous wounds coating his lithe body, he could feel blood still trickling down his arms, chest and legs. He did his best not to sway or crumple under the other's rapt gaze as Grindelwald stepped uncomfortably near. Their chests were touching, Newt feeling the leather of the other's coat against the raw, bare skin of his torso. Grindelwald's mismatched, captivatingly unique eyes were burning straight through him whilst being this close.

"And where do your attentions lie now, mein haustier?" His voice was quiet and filled with knotted anticipation. Newt fought the urge to shoot the man a derisive grin as he replied in as blank a voice as he could manage with adrenaline running through his veins.

"Here." Newt said simply.

He had less than a moment to savour the astonished, though not necessarily unhappy expression on Gellert Grindelwald's face before Newt wordlessly summoned his wand into his hand. The moment his fingers closed around the familiar wood, he felt a great rush of warmth that surged the adrenaline faster round his body than before. Knowing that this was almost certainly his one and only chance to take the man by surprise to escape – Newt shot a wordless burning hex straight into the other wizard's face.

Grindelwald exclaimed loudly in such an impressive variety of languages and expletives that Newt felt a flush rise in his cheeks as he threw himself clumsily towards the door, unlocking it with a quick flick of his wand. " _Scheiße! Verdammter narr eines Jungen_! Damn boy you will regret that- of all the fu- Newt get back here!"

Every step was massively taxing and caused utter agony to flare through his body, his leg trailing uselessly behind him as he limped heavily out of the door. He heard a nearly incomprehensible blur of German and English curses sound behind him – Grindelwald's anger, shock and pain likely overriding his usually impressively articulate speech.

Newt chose to ignore Grindelwald in favour of focussing all his attention of getting his failing body the hell out of here. The corridor outside was made of the same weathered grey stone that the cell had been, but there was a blood red runner muffling his stumbling bare footsteps as he limpingly ran away. Clutching his wand tight in his shaking hand, Newt turned on the spot and tried to apparate - fixing the image of Theseus' front living-room in his head as he did so.

His pain, desperation and curse addled senses didn't send the correct signals to his brain however, as Newt tried to apparate and drove directly into an incredibly solid charm wall. He was slammed violently to the floor by the anti-apparation spells that he should have _known_ would be in place, but it was too late for regret now as he curled in on himself, gasping open-mouthed like a fish out of water. He couldn't breathe. Vaguely, he felt his wand ripped from his grip and saw it fly away from him as his lungs suddenly expanded again.

"If you _ever_ attempt to raise your wand against me again, little Newton, I will break each one of your fingers in turn and have you use it on yourself." Grindelwald's voice was seething and ice cold as Newt rolled onto his side to stare vacantly up at him. The wizard was stood above him, sweating slightly, white-blonde hair in disarray across his shining forehead and blue eye filled with the most potent fury Newt had ever seen. He shrank back slightly, his vision blurring alarmingly as he collapsed further to the floor. He knew that he had just used up the precious last reserves of his energy - feeling true exhaustion and suffering loosening his already severely frayed ties on consciousness.

Grindelwald leant down close to crouch in Newt's fading line of sight and the Magizoologist felt a flutter of shock and revulsion – though admittedly also a thin, guilty strand of satisfaction – as he saw the effect his hex had had on the man's face. There was a large angry red slash cleaving a line from Grindelwald's jaw, cutting up through his upper lip and nose and clipping the lower part of Grindelwald's now ruined silver eye. He had managed to blind the wizard with his clumsily-aimed burning hex.

His fading mind could only manage to register one final, terrified thought before he fell unconscious.

 _Oh dear._

 **A/N – So, uh… merry Christmas? Hope everything in this instalment is acceptable and hope everyone is looking forward to some massive fluff compensation at the end… or will there be? Feedback is craved APU!**


	16. Chapter 16

**"You who I called brother, how could you have come to hate me so? Is this what you wanted? Then let my heart be hardened and never mind how high the cost may grow." – 'The Plagues' – 'The Prince of Egypt' (performed by Amick Bryam and Ralph Fiennes)**

As Gellert Grindelwald looked down at the sleeping, restless form of Newt Scamander on the bed before him, he took several careful minutes to take in every detail that he could. His scarred face was pale underneath the dusting of freckles and the dark circles that surrounded his sunken eyes only served to exacerbate the air of vulnerability he exuded. His time with Grindelwald had weathered away at his already slim physique, lean muscles wrapped around protruding bones, hips and ribs clearly visible underneath the numerous red lashes crisscrossing one another across the boy's torso. His broken leg was marred with swollen, reddened flesh that had split around the sides from the show of force Gellert had made whilst in Paris.

He doubted that Newt was aware of it, but the mark of the Deathly Hallows that he had spent so much care etching into his flesh was scarring black and harsh against his pronounced pallor. The skin around the gift was peeling away - as if even Newt's own flesh was aware of the power involved in creating such a mark. There was no trace of infection left in the Magizoologist, and Grindelwald found himself brushing curious fingers along the burn – he had never seen fit to brand another with the mark, so seeing the strange results of the magic was interesting to say the least.

Such promise resided within the frail young man… so much unrealised potential. There was intelligence, tenacity, well-tuned instinct, loyalty as well as a subtle beauty that lay behind a bumbling façade of awkwardness and self-doubt. Gellert had truly meant his words when he told Newt that he should seek a better place in the world – in the new world order that Grindelwald would one day christen. That was already well on its way to be born. He could now see why Albus had taken such an interest in the boy, why he had groomed and manipulated him into taking his place to fight against the rise of the greater good.

It almost made Gellert laugh to think of how blinded Newt was to not see that his precious mentor was using him just as much as Grindelwald himself intended to. At least Grindelwald was honest about the lengths he was willing to go to in order to achieve his goals. His methods may be brutal, but he did what he knew would be effective in the most direct manner. Pain was honest. Mutilation was the sincerest form of bonding. Carving into and manipulating the flesh of another was one of the purest ways to connect to them - to establish an unparalleled understanding.

When he and Albus had made their pact and bound it in blood, Gellert had felt the most intimate and intense rush of emotions he had ever experienced – before or since. The feel of their life blood intermingling and binding through their souls, minds and magic… it had been euphoric. _Indescribable_.

Though they had then gone their separate ways after the… miscalculation with Albus' attachment to his family – he hadn't foreseen the drastic reaction or the undesirable outcome of that day. He had thought… hoped that Albus was as infatuated with the Hallows and with Gellert himself that he would overlook the bonds of family that were weighing him down. He had been uncharacteristically mistaken. They had made the bond under Gellert's suggestion – he had not wanted to ever be put in a situation where he would be forced to kill Albus. The other man had made it under the impression that without him, Gellert would choose to just give up on their plans or that he would fail in his quest to seek out the Hallows. That he would just throw away everything they had planned together. That had been Albus' second mistake.

Through the next few decades, through the Great war and the Ministry's oppositions in nearly every country he visited, Grindelwald had fought. He had persevered and amassed followers, seeded suspicion and revealed truths wherever he went. The pure-blood families had been a great help in his travels, spreading his words and treating them as gospel in light of his policies on culling the Muggle population. In his younger years, he had learnt to gradually discard the concept of the supposed individual – focussing increasingly upon the idea that he had christened with Albus. The Greater Good that would eclipse the sacrifices of the individual and instead forge a better world for all.

While Albus had been whiling his time away with his absurd hobbies – wasting his immense talent and potential on half-wit British children, Grindelwald had been changing the world. He had soaked up the varying political and social tensions and philosophies that were so deeply ingrained within Europe. He had been influencing the goings on in the wizarding world for over three decades – either with subtle suggestions in the right ears at the right times or through more dramatic gestures. Shows of force were all well and good, but a few encouraging words to the right people could have as just as devastating an effect as any spell or curse.

Like with his impersonation of Percival Graves for instance. Admittedly it had taken quite the entertaining duel to subdue the wizard, but once he had him bound, helpless and stashed away in the magically concealed area of the New York tube tunnels, he hadn't needed to exert much force whatsoever. For months, he had slipped into the Director's comparatively dull life – adopting his habits and living his everyday experiences with ease and a little… coaxing on Grindelwald's part. The American had been understandably recalcitrant at first, but after a few days of intense mental and physical treatment, he had relented. There were very few who could deny Grindelwald and Graves was no exception.

Despite what the Aurors assumed about his impersonation of their Director, Grindelwald not in fact used Polyjuice potion, but had instead utilised his immense magical power to create the illusion. In an attempt to create uncertainty around his abilities, he had taken hair from the captive Auror, but not used it as Graves had assumed. Instead, he had discarded most of it, but kept enough to perform a prolonged observation spell to keep tabs on him. Even after Newt had revealed his deception and saved his new little Auror friend – Grindelwald had used the connection to check in on the Director to assess his coping.

It was mildly entertaining to see the relationship that seemed to be blooming between him and the young Magizoologist and had only acted to further pique his interest in the British wizard who had seen through him quite so quickly. The short time he had spent in MACUSA's cells before convincing Abernathy to release him had been mostly whiled away watching the outside world through his silvery Seer's eye. No wards the MACUSA wizards could cook up would ever have been enough to prevent his Seer abilities and it had been intriguing to witness what events were drawn to his attention by those powers. He had little control over the visions, but he had long ago established that whatever was on his mind – subconsciously or not – would often have an effect on what he saw. Newt, Albus and Percival had featured heavily in the glimpses he had seen through his silver eye.

And that silver eye was now ruined.

The damage to his actual eye was mostly superficial and impermanent, but in the hours since the attack, Gellert had found his visions to be slightly distorted – as though looking through the cracked lens of a broken telescope. Everything was off-kilter. He had used several healing spells to clear up the physical damage to his face and eye, but there remained a slight glassiness to the silver orb that dulled it to a darker colour – closer to that of his other. He had retained his vision in a physical sense, but his Seer's ability was left reeling by the damage. How a weaker wizard's hasty burning hex had had such an effect on his magic, he was unsure, but he suspected that it was likely to do with the built-up tension the boy had released in the attack. Even weaker wizards could produce effective results should they receive the right motivation and Newt seemed to be one intent on surprising him at every turn.

He felt his hands ball into tight fists as he looked down at the fitfully sleeping Newt, he had not been expecting such a foolish and violent outburst from the boy. Especially not while he was under the influence of the Imperius curse. But while a large part of him sought to punish the boy further for the attack, he knew that Newt found need to be in better physical shape than he was now if he stood a chance of playing host to the blood-bond. He had let the boy get under his skin too many times already, had reacted rashly and nearly killed him because of it.

Nearly everything he had told Newt thus far had been true – he had intended to keep the intentions between them clear and honest, but things had quickly complicated as he had learned more about the boy. His strength was impressive and his soft, abusable nature was… _alluring_. Until now, Gellert had never considered him to be one who truly enjoyed the suffering of others – only acknowledging it as justified or necessary – but with Newt, he felt genuine jolts of pleasure when seeing the boy suffer. The only other person he had ever revelled in bringing blood from had been Albus. The similarities – both physical and morally were undeniable. Soft coppery toned hair, bright, intelligent blue eyes and an outwardly incorruptible personality that his a much more… malleable core. One that was secretly seeking the darkness - even if only on an entirely subconscious level.

After realising the strong will within the boy, he had initially intended to use him as his puppet to end Albus, should the need arise – the fear that the threat had risen from Newt had been practically _delicious_. But now… he considered Newt to be a worthy candidate for bearing the precious blood-bond – something he had not considered true of anyone until recently. But destroying him afterwards now proved to be a… difficult choice. The chance to further investigate the inner workings and intricacies of Newton Scamander proved to be far too alluring an idea to just kill him now. No doubt Albus would attempt to keep the boy alive, despite knowing the opportunity his strength offered – to be rid of the bond that had grown to be more of an irritation for both as time wore on.

At the continued thoughts of their bond, Gellert's hand went, as it often did, to touch the binding pendant that hung from his waistcoat… only for his fingers to brush nothing but silken fabric. He looked down in panic, glancing about frantically and patting down his own clothing for the object – feeling rage and confusion at not finding it anywhere on his person. Where could he have lost it? How? When?... or _Who_?

Turning a blazing gaze to the emaciated form in front of him, Grindelwald recalled how Newt had grasped seemingly blindly at his waistcoat at his rally in Paris. The _wretch_ must have stolen it! It was most likely what was giving him his misguided hope that he could beat him. He had probably given it off to his little Auror friends in the hopes that they could destroy it. They would have taken it to Albus if they had figured out what it was, and knowing Graves as intimately as he did, Gellert was sure he likely had.

So Albus now had the means to make his move against him – but would he? He knew just what it would take to break it. And knowing Albus, he would wait until Grindelwald's deadline and allow him to make the difficult decisions for him. Albus would not want to be seen bloodying his hands by sacrificing his precious student and would likely deliberate until a point where he could feign innocence.

But Grindelwald was not going to make it that easy for him. There would be no easy way out for either him or Newt.

For his manipulation, selfishness and cowardice, he would ensure that Albus would witness every atrocity he committed in the name of the Greater Good and be unable to stop it. He would keep the bond intact so the man who had once meant to so much to him would continue to be restrained and helpless. He would forge the new world in blood and fire – he would make it pure and strong. And he would do so with Albus' ex-protégé by his side. The boy would either bend to his will or he would continue to fight. Either way, Grindelwald would get what he wanted – loyalty or entertainment. He did not much care which.

But until he built that new world order, there was no crime in having a little fun demonstrating to Albus just where his manipulations had gotten his student. The looming visit that Albus was due to make could still be used to his advantage. Gellert would spend the remaining day left to him to continue his work on his new pet and further investigating the suspicion he held concerning a way in which he could punish both, even should the bond be broken. Gellert had always been one for multiple contingency plans and he was not going to let either of the men's unpredictability overcome him.

Unaware of the decisions being made above him, Newt slept on, twitching in his exhaustion and pain induced state. Gellert smiled a soft, vile smile at the unconscious boy and brushed his sweaty fringe away from his forehead with a tender caress. He waved his wand in gradual spirals across the boy's body, healing the deeper lash marks until they left scars that looked days old instead of hours. The reddened marks added character to the piece of art before him and he intended to clear away the old to make way for the new. The old welt on his neck disappeared, along with several lightened claw marks and burns scattered about his body. Soon, the only marks that were left were those that Grindelwald himself had made. Gellert gently stroked a hand along the boy's hip in captivated satisfaction.

Newt was his and he was going to ensure that Albus knew it.


	17. Chapter 17

**"Hate to break it to you but it's out of my control, forces go to work while we are sleeping, if I could attack with a more sensible approach, obviously that's what I'd be doing, right!" – 'Gravity' – The Dresden Dolls**

Queenie had finally managed to drift into a fitful sleep when she heard it. The sound filled her mind with such devastating misery and agony that she had to stifle a scream, shooting up in bed and clutching her fingers through her messy blonde curls. She couldn't put a definite name to the noise she was hearing, only that it was a sense of overwhelming suffering that crashed into her like a wave.

Since Abernathy had brought her to Nurmengard Castle, she had spent most of her time thinking and worrying. Considering and doubting her decisions over and over until exhaustion had finally claimed her. She had spoken with Grindelwald briefly when she had first been brought there, Abernathy had taken her to his lavishly decorated study, so she could speak with him. She had to admit that his soothing, compelling words and captivating silver gaze had acted as a balm on her ravaged mind – he had weaved them into an image of a much brighter future. One where she and Jacob could marry openly, one where she would be accepted and celebrated for her gifts… not considered to be a freak or a burden.

She had seen the strain that looking out for her had placed upon Tina over the years, and she hoped that she would able to alleviate that burden. Tina had had to struggle with the tasks of keeping interested parties away from Queenie, as well as doing her job as an Auror, keeping them afloat financially, on top of managing her own life as well. It wasn't fair that Queenie's abilities should hold Tina back from living her own life. Grindelwald had made Queenie promises that captured everything she hoped to achieve and more. The promise of independence and recognition as well as the chance to be with the man she loved without fear of discovery… it sounded like a dream come true.

It wasn't to say that she didn't also recognise the evil that the man was capable of. She was of course aware of his capture of Newt and all the murders and manipulations he had committed in the name of his cause. But the way Grindelwald had phrased his propositions… it had almost made the good outweigh the bad. _"We are not here to hurt you. We only want to help you. You're so very, very far from home. Far away from everything you love… it is not your fault that your sister is an Auror. I wish you were working with me now towards a world where we wizards are free to live openly, and to love freely."_

She still had reservations about becoming involved in the man's cause, but the potential good they could achieve seemed just too good a thing to pass up. A better world for everyone at the cost of the suffering of relatively few… surely it had to be worth it? For the future generations as well? For the greater good of everyone?

In an attempt to abate her worries, Grindelwald had lowered his Occlumency shields to allow Queenie into his usually well-guarded mind. There had been such passion and intelligence in his mind and hope too – a hope for better. It was exhilarating to witness. Though there were still sections of his mind that Queenie had been unable to access, she understood why the man would not want her to see everything in his mind after only a few minutes of meeting her. Everyone had their secrets and she didn't condemn him for wanting his privacy. What she had seen, heard and felt had been enough to convince her to stay, at least for now.

The ever-attentive Abernathy had shown her to a room in a privately situated tower in the west wing of the castle. The room had been just as lavishly decorated as the study had been – rich purple carpeting, matching plum coloured velvet covering all the furniture and a roaring fire flickering cheerily in the hearth. There were Muggle-written romance books – which she was partial to, as well as plates of strudel and pastries placed upon the table in the corner. While the food did not smell quite as good as Jacob's amazing work, it was still a comforting aroma of cinnamon and apples that hung in the air. It was as if the room had been decorated to suit Queenie's tastes, which while being a nice gesture, also unnerved the witch a bit. How had he known of her preferences? Had Abernathy told him of them? Or had the wizard been spying upon her?

She had finally fallen into another uneasy sleep when the mind-crushing sorrow had hit her, she now sat scrunched into the corner of the bed and wall and sobbing desperately. She had not been overwhelmed by another's emotions this strongly for quite some time. It was a familiar sorrow that ambushed her now, however – it was Newt.

When she had entered the castle, she had of course asked after Newt, but the two wizards had assured her that he was no longer in any danger and that he had been returned to his brother. Grindelwald had spoken briefly of the rally he had held in Paris, and had mentioned that her sister, Mr Graves and Theseus had been there. When Queenie had demonstrated her concern at hearing this, Grindelwald had quickly assuaged her fears by showing her glimpses of what had happened. She saw her sister – alive - if clearly distraught, standing nearby Theseus who was cradling a bloody Newt in his arms. Queenie had been relieved to see the proof of her friends' and sister's relative safety. She had been glad to see that Newt had been released and apparently take care of by his brother.

But now she realised that Grindelwald had been lying to her. Newt must be somewhere nearby judging by the intensity she had felt, it had come out of nowhere very quickly, so Queenie guessed that he had either just arrived or had broken through some sort of mental blockade. Whatever the case, the key fact here was that Newt was somewhere in the castle, he was in a lot of pain and he was _scared_.

Grindelwald had lied to her about that; the tenuous hold he had over her was cracking away like dry plaster from a wall. He was just another person who wanted to use her naturally strong Legilimens abilities for his own benefit. Thinking about it now, Queenie was ashamed to think of how she had ever been taken in – one of Grindelwald's main policies concerned the subjugation of No-Maj's for Morgana's sake! How could she have ever been foolish enough to think he would want to help her be with Jacob.

The sudden overwhelming wave of Newt's emotion seemed to have shocked her brain back into cognition. It was as if a needle had punctured the flimsy bubble of hope she had been floating in for the last two days. She wiped away her tears, sitting up in the bed, hiccupping slightly as she did so. What was she doing? Was she really so desperate for love and recognition that she would consider betraying the few loyal people she did have in her life?

She and Jacob may have to keep their love shrouded in secret, but if she joined Grindelwald, she could easily jeopardise everything they had built. She doubted that Jacob would want to walk with her on that treacherous path – he had been a part of enough wars already. He was so brave, sweet and loyal, but she would not ask him to join a conflict that he should have no part in. They would wait. They could go to live in London, open a new bakery in a place where the No-Maj relations laws were not quite so 'backwards', as Newt had once put it. There was a better way for them to be together than joining Grindelwald's cause.

She had to leave, and quickly. Queenie doubted that Grindelwald would let her just go back to her sister after she had been shown the man's fortress – after she had seen some of his memories. She shook with more tears as she realised what a sticky situation she had landed herself in with her moments of weakness. What could she do? She wasn't even sure where she was or how she could get home. Would Grindelwald pursue her if she left? What was she to do?

There was a sudden knock at the door to her room that startled her into hastily wiping away her tears on her dress sleeves, taking a few deep breaths before going to answer the door. Abernathy was stood there, a jumpy but excited air about him as he regarded Queenie, offering her a smile. "Hey Queenie, I just came to see how you were settling in? It must all be pretty overwhelming, huh?"

She forced a brittle, watery smile onto her face, nodded and stepped aside to let the man in, he didn't move forward however and beckoned her to follow him. She hesitated for a few moments, glancing a bit self-consciously down at the crumpled pink silk dress she still wore, before moving to follow. "Um yeah, you could say that again."

Abernathy let out a seemingly jittery chuckle and began to lead her along the red runner lined hallways and down several flights of spiral staircases. As they walked, Queenie ran a quick hand through her tousled hair and smoothed down her dress with a quick charm that ironed out the wrinkles subtly. She had not thought to change since she had arrived, though the wardrobe in her room had been filled with clothes that were complimentary to her usual style. She had not left her room for some time and so had not really thought about her state of dress until now.

"My lord wished to invite you to dine with him and his guest tonight, he thought you might appreciate the company." Abernathy's tone was cheery, but there was an element in his tone that Queenie did not quite trust. The man seemed to have increased his mental defences since their last encounter, she could no longer feel his thoughts.

It was disconcerting to be in such a large space but still not be able to hear any of the occupant's minds. Grindelwald was blocked off from her entirely, while Abernathy seemed to have had Occlumency shields placed in his mind by another – likely his master. Even Newt's mind was now muted from her senses - it was as if the barrier around his mind had been temporarily overwhelmed to let through the flood before it closed off again. Like an icy wind that blows through an open door when someone enters a room before being cut off abruptly when shut again.

Desperate to keep up a façade of enthusiasm, Queenie smiled and commented in as light and genuine a tone as she could. "That's real nice of him."

Abernathy led her to a large set of ornate carved oak doors, giving her a small smirk before turning the brass handles and pushing them open. Queenie entered the brightly-lit dining room cautiously, smelling the aromas of cooked meat and vegetables permeating the air. There was a large table set in the centre of the room, smooth black wood laden with simple but delicious smelling dishes such as a hunk of roasted meat and herb crusted new potatoes. The room was lit by numerous candles dotted about the space on side tables and from an extravagant silver wrought chandelier that hung above.

The rather pleasant image was ruined however as Queenie saw what – or rather _who_ \- was seated at the head of the table. Newt Scamander sat, mostly naked, in a hard-backed wooden chair - pinned firmly upright by a series of metal bands that wrapped around his stomach, arms, legs and mouth. He seemed to be unconscious and his head was slumped forward on his bare chest, which was stuttering slightly along with his uneven breaths. The poor Brit looked so skinny and hurt that it brought horrified tears to Queenie's eyes, she took a step backwards towards the doors but was blocked by Abernathy closing them behind her.

She had been so transfixed by the awful sight before her that she nearly jumped a foot in the air when Grindelwald's oddly light voice floated across the room to her. "Please, Queenie, do sit down."

Queenie turned her tear-filled gaze to Grindelwald, who was lounging - completely at ease, in a chair just along from Newt's. The wizard raised a pale brow at her and gestured to the seat on the other side of the table to him - the one closest to where she now stood. Sensing that it had not been a request, Queenie took a few tentative steps to the table and perched herself delicately onto the indicated chair. Abernathy came up beside her and filled her goblet with what looked to be red wine and began going around the table, serving each occupant with wine and food as he did so.

"Thank you, Corelias." Grindelwald said, nodding his appreciation to the younger wizard, Abernathy nodded jerkily and left the room through the same door they had entered by. The door closed with a soft click behind him and Queenie was left alone with Gellert Grindelwald and a lifeless Newt.

Queenie was trying very hard to focus upon her plate of food - not wanting to look at either the abused, mostly unclothed form of her friend or at the man who had nearly convinced her to betray that same friend. She heard the quiet scrapings of cutlery on porcelain as Grindelwald dug into his meal with apparent relish. Queenie picked at her own – feeling nausea curling in her stomach at the faint smell of burnt flesh and metallic blood that was coming from the seat beside her.

After several tense, quiet minutes of eating, Queenie chanced a glance up at the man sitting opposite her. Grindelwald looked different from the last time she had seen him, he was slightly paler, and his silver eye held a darker, glassier look than before. His pale moustache was noticeably absent, leaving his upper lip looking a tad pink – likely from the recent shave, but she couldn't help but wonder dimly what had prompted the change. It was likely that she was trying to distract herself from the more glaring issues at hand with such trivialities, but she couldn't help but let her mind wander. Anything was better than considering exactly how deeply in the crap she had fallen by now.

Grindelwald caught her gaze and she instinctively went to lower it again, but the small smirk he sent her prompted her attention back up to meet his eyes. "Is there something on your mind?"

Queenie swallowed the mouthful of well-seasoned – though strangely unidentifiable – meat, tasting nothing but ash as she shook her head jerkily at him. She didn't trust her voice to work at the moment. The Legilimens' eyes flicked involuntarily over to Newt as she heard a quiet, muffled groan.

She watched on with slightly bated breath as Newt's drooping head twitched slightly on his skinny neck and another soft grunt made its way past the metal encasing his lips. Hazy blue eyes flickered open, blinked themselves slowly into focus before Newt's head snapped up into a more upright position. He looked panicked and disorientated as he took in his surroundings; Queenie found herself once again struck by the strange feeling of not being able to sense another's emotional state from their thoughts. It was like being struck blind or deaf – a sense not working as it should, leaving her feeling off kilter and rather hollow.

Newt turned his confused gaze to meet Queenie's, flushing bright red as he saw that she had witnessed his undressed, vulnerable state. All she could offer him was an awkward, apologetic shrug and a grimace. She had no idea what to say to him, or even what she _could_ say in front of Grindelwald. Her voice was caught tight in her throat as he gave her an unfathomable look before turning his weary gaze to Grindelwald.

"Glad to see that you deigned to finally grace us with your attention, Newt." Grindelwald spoke with a chastising, mocking tone that sent shivers up Queenie's spine, but seemed to have little effect on Newt, who merely released a huff of air through his nose. He adjusted his posture as much as he could whilst bound so tightly against the chair.

The Magizoologist seemed to be trying to revert to his natural, wilted posture, but the bands around him kept his spine straight, his legs slightly spread, and his arms pinned stiffly to the armrests. Queenie couldn't help but wince as she saw the bloody marks across his body crack open at the attempted movement, blood sliding slowly down his arms and abdomen to the stain the wood of the chair below him to an even darker hue.

Newt fixed Grindelwald with a surprisingly firm gaze considering his emaciated state and Grindelwald seemed to pick up something from the younger wizard that made him release a dry chuckle. "Well I suppose you have a point about that, mein haustier, even if it was made in a rather uncouth manner."

The exchange left Queenie confused – were they communicating mentally? If Grindelwald was capable of such a feat, then why did he ever bother attempting to recruit Queenie in the first place? Was it meant to be a show of power against Tina and MACUSA? A demonstration that he could convert anyone he wanted? Or was it something else?

The queries were flushed to the back of Queenie's mind however, as Grindelwald flicked his hand towards Newt and removed the metal gagging him with wandless, wordless magic. Seeming to be relieved by the freedom, she watched as Newt worked his scalded, scarred jaw up and down slightly, pink tongue bobbing momentarily out to lick at his dry, cracked lips.

Newt glanced between Queenie and Grindelwald for several, seemingly indecisive moments before locking his gaze back onto her – licking his lips for a second time before speaking in an equally cracked voice. "Q-queenie… w-what're you d-doing he-rre?"

Queenie opened her mouth to explain herself, before it snapped closed again – realising that if she revealed that she wasn't truly taken in by Grindelwald's words, then he might choose to punish her in a way similar to how he had apparently dealt with Newt. She averted her gaze from Newt and heard a soft sigh.

"I'm s-sorry I g-got you d-dragged int-to t-this… you needn't have g-gotten involved… it's my f-fault... I'm sorry Q-queenie…" His mumbled, heart-wrenching apologies trailed off as Grindelwald let out another laugh – this time a harsh bark of mirth that sounded hollow.

"You needn't apologise for bringing her to my attention, Newt, I was already aware of your friend's abilities from my time in MACUSA. Queenie is here of her own volition – she sought a better life where she could be with her Muggle lover. Isn't that right, my dear?"

Queenie didn't look at either of them - not wanting to see Newt's horror and disgust at her or Grindelwald's satisfaction. "Yeah…"

"As l-long as y-you are s-sure that's w-what you w-want… I w-wish you and Jacob the very b-best." She was surprised to hear Newt's voice so soft - cajoling her to meet his concerned gaze. There was no disgust in that gaze. There was confusion, pain and fear, but the most prevalent emotion was still concern – for her. Even after she had seemingly agreed to condone Grindelwald's actions, the Magizoologist was still worried about her. She felt hot tears slide down her cheeks and she diverted her gaze back down to her half-empty plate.

A darker, more stable note entered Newt's voice as he turned his head to face Grindelwald with something hot and hard sharpening in those usually soft sea-blue eyes. "As l-long as she is making her own f-fully informed and voluntary d-decisions…"

Grindelwald sent Newt an amused gaze - still lounging in his chair - one elbow resting on the armrest, that arm's hand loosely holding his goblet, while the other was held out to the side in a relaxed gesture. "Unlike you, Miss Goldstein is capable of seeing the benefits that I can provide for her…"

The wizard's attention flicked momentarily to Queenie at his next words. "Even if she has since changed her mind on the matter. I will not force her into any situation that she is not willing to partake in."

Queenie felt a jolt of shock as she realised the implications of the dark wizard's words – he was allowing her to leave. Could it really be so easy? But… could she really leave Newt after finding him in such a dreadful, helpless state? If she could leave, she would be able to bring back Aurors to help - she could use the opportunity to her advantage.

"I- I appreciate your, uh… interest in my… um service… but I really should be getting back to my sister… she'll be worried sick…" Queenie pushed her chair back lamely and stood hastily, knowing that the mumbled excuse was equally as lame, but not being able to think of anything better to say.

Grindelwald nodded almost absently at her, moving to replace his goblet on the table before him – seeming altogether far too unphased by her words to be real. Queenie glanced at Newt, who was giving her a look of warning, though what for specifically, she couldn't tell. Flashing another quick, apologetic grimace at Newt, she hurried to the door and left as swiftly as she could whilst not running outright. Abernathy seemingly materialised out of nowhere and took her arm in a slightly too-tight grip, guiding her back through the twisting corridors, up flights of steps and to what looked to be the front door.

The man's jaw was clenched tightly as he handed her what appeared to be a battered old locket that was glowing slightly in the twilight lit front hall. The stained-glass windows that bracketed the main door coloured everything in an otherworldly rainbow glow, she was shaking as Abernathy stopped in front of her. He seemed to want to say something to her but gave up and instead took several steps back. She cautiously took a firmer grip of the proffered portkey and was quickly sucked away into a blur of nausetating colour and sound. Her shaking sobs were lost in the sensory distortion of travel

When it finally stopped, she was standing outside an unfamiliar two-story brick house – perched dizzily on the doorstep of a muted, yet pleasant looking town house. The cobbled street was empty, and snow was slowly accumulating on the rooftops and cobbles. She shivered.

The sign on the door labelled the house as being number 11 All-Hallows road and not being able to think of much else to do, she raised her hand to knock at the door. It swung upon before her knuckles even touched the wood and she squeaked in surprise as a handsome and vaguely familiar bearded man opened it.

"Ah, I thought I had been rather thorough with my warding, but clearly not well enough. Please, come in, Miss Goldstein. it's awfully cold out here and you are certainly not dressed for a Northern winter." The man's accent was decidedly British, and he spoke with a rapid, disarmingly calming confidence that prompted Queenie to follow him before she had even really thought about it.

"Um, uh, sorry Mr-um British guy, but where am I exactly? How'd you know my name? Who are you?" She stumbled out the questions in a manner so reminiscent of Jacob that she left a familiar pang of separation. Spending enough time around the man's mind had led to her picking up some of his mannerisms without really realising it. What she wouldn't give to just be wrapped up in his arms, safe and immune to the horrors of the world.

The living room she was led into was warm and inviting, but she was so uncharacteristically disorientated by the continued lack of anyone else's thoughts around her, that she did not take any time to consider it. Though she did register the scent of tea and something that was sweet and oddly bitter at the same time.

The man offered her a crooked half-smile that was just on the wrong side of hazy, before wandlessly charming a teacup to float into her hand, which she took more out of reflex than anything else. "My name is Albus Dumbledore and you are in my secondary home in Sheffield, England. I believe that you may need to calm your nerves after your rather unpleasant encounter with Mr Grindelwald. Do drink your tea while its hot."

Queenie sank bonelessly into the nearest chair, feeling hot tears pricking her eyes again as she took an absentminded sip of the tea. It burned her mouth but did in fact seem to help settle her restless stomach a little – it also helped to remove the weird taste that the meat had left on her tongue.

Dumbledore sat down opposite her, fixing her with an inscrutable gaze that reminded her slightly of Grindelwald, before it softened, and he asked in an equally soft voice. "Now, I would appreciate it if you could tell me what happened?"

 **A/N – Was not particularly happy with myself for this chapter as I find nicer, less complex characters (who make out of character decisions in canon) difficult to write for. So sorry for whatever that was. Thoughts? Advice?**


	18. 18 - 'The Black Widow'

**"Everyone gather around for a show, watch as this man disappears as we know… He thinks that faith might be dead, nothing kills a man faster than his own head." – 'Trapdoor', Twenty-one Pilots**

The French Ministry of Magic had been decidedly unhelpful. Despite the fact that Theseus spoke fairly fluent French thanks to his stationing in the Great War, the officials and Aurors had refused to even entertain the idea that Grindelwald was in Paris. That was of course, until Grindelwald's signal to his followers had spread across the city like a bloody homing beacon. They had only gone to the Ministry first as it was one of the Auror flu-networks best links to Paris - less liable to…cross-connections. The French Auror department had demanded that they explain their presence and that had resulted in a series of multilingual arguments that left Theseus feeling ready to hex anyone who looked at him wrong.

He and Tina had only managed to leave because of the resulting chaos after Grindelwald's signal presented itself across the city; the Aurors had dispersed to settle the panic and fighting that had broken out. Having not been to the _Circus Arcanus_ before, they had to make their way on foot through the crowded city streets, dodging duelling Grindelwald supporters and Aurors as they did so. It was bloody mayhem. There was next to no chance that the Muggles would not get caught in the crossfire or witness magic – this was going to require an awful lot of obliviating and paperwork. Better leave that to the French Ministry.

The fighting seemed to get thicker as they approached the hidden entrance to the Circus street; it unnerved Theseus to think that there was such a hive of activity around the place where Credence was known to be. From what he had gathered from hearing snippets of angry conversations in the Ministry and on the streets, it seemed that Grindelwald was holding a rally in Paris. Just fantastic.

They dodged through the statue's drape and into a crowd of revelling circus goers; it was difficult to tell who was actually a follower of Grindelwald, a circus worker or just an innocent bystander. The veritable cavalcade of witches, wizards, children and magical creatures was enough to make Theseus' already fraying nerves go into overdrive, he barrelled forward through the crowd, sending mostly harmless spells at anyone who got in their way. He could feel Tina behind him, picking off any stragglers with quick jinxes of her own, they made their way towards where the crowd was thickest – surrounding and spilling out of a larger red and gold striped tent. It was a fairly safe bet to assume that the gathered ones were probably here for Grindelwald.

Just as they reached the entrance of the tent, Theseus heard Tina let out a shriek of surprise and he turned around just in time to see her being pulled off to the side. Instantly raising his wand in defence and diving out of the crowd after her, he found himself gaping in shock as he saw just who it was who had grabbed his companion. Percival Graves nodded grimly at him, releasing Tina's arm and gesturing for the two Aurors to follow him. Both hesitated, glancing at each other for a moment before following Graves back to where he stood with a small group of Aurors at the side of the main tent, off behind the animal cages.

Graves turned back to them with an uncharacteristically haggard expression on his grim face, he looked dishevelled and weary, but resolute. "I am not going to make the mistake of asking what you think you are doing here, as I already know the answer. But for now, we all have the same goal, Grindelwald is inside that tent right now and this is likely one of the best chances we will have to take him down while he is… erstwhile distracted." There was a flash of guilt in Percival's eyes as he glanced towards Theseus and the elder Scamander sensed instantly that something was wrong – Graves knew something about Newt that he wasn't letting on.

"What do you mean _erstwhile distracted_?" Theseus asked, his tone icy and strained as he stared down the other wizard. Graves sighed but seemed to relent.

"Your brother is inside, Mr Scamander and Grindelwald seems to be using him as… some sort of example." Graves' eyes darkened in anger and apparent sorrow as Theseus' jaw tightened painfully. "I'm going to allow you to assist with this situation Scamander, but only because I believe that you are a competent enough Auror to be of use in taking Grindelwald down. Do _not_ make me regret placing my trust in you."

With that said, he turned to the group of around ten Aurors and spoke in a more even, commanding tone. "We will enter the tent, disperse and observe until I signal to do otherwise. Do not let these people make the mistake of thinking that we are the enemy by attacking unprovoked." Theseus nodded, agreeing with the plan, seeing that it made sense from a strategic point of view – even if every bone in his body was screaming at him to just get in there and get to Newt.

He slowly filed in with his fellow Aurors, feeling Tina clench her hand in his as they went to stand across the tent, towards the back, watching as the other Aurors spread out across the space, mingling with the crowd. Grindelwald's beckoningly hypotonic voice was filtering throughout the marquee, capturing the attention of every eye in the place, that was of course, except for that of Theseus and Tina.

The words filtered through his ears without really registering them. "-for the love of our world and for fear of what the Muggles will be allowed to do to it…. Muggles mean no less than any witch or wizard – they are merely of different value. Not worthless, though worth less than the Ministry's power in the eyes of those who serve it."

The only thing that Theseus could seem to focus upon was the glimpse he could see of a battered figure hunched in the cage behind the dark wizard. He found himself moving forward unconsciously through the sea of people, stepping at a slow pace that continued until he could properly see the figure in the cage. He thought of it as a figure, simply because the emaciated, tattered and bruised man could simply _not_ be his innocent little brother.

He was not cognizant of his actions as he stopped in a place off to the side of the crowd, towards the front, but still shielded from casual notice by a group of supporters standing nearby. He felt as if he were in an odd surreal state, his eyes glued to his little brother as Grindelwald continued his rant. It wasn't until Theseus heard his surname that he snapped his captivated attention to focus upon the dark wizard instead. "Mr Scamander is yet further evidence of how flawed the current world order really is. Abandoned by his friends in positions of power across the globe… instead they pursue an innocent, abused boy with the intent of destroying him for the power he holds."

Those cruel, taunting, manipulative words…It made Theseus clench his fist so tight around his wand that his whitened knuckles protested. He saw how Newt reacted to it, saw the pain present in his blue eyes and the desperation that flooded them when they focussed upon something in the back of the crowd that Theseus couldn't see. He witnessed how his sibling jerked his head in a clear signal for someone to leave and heard the ripples of laughter that it resulted in from the crowd.

For a moment Theseus found himself glancing worriedly around for Tina, concerned that she had been the one spotted by Newt and in turn Grindelwald. Fortunately, he found her standing directly behind him, eyes alit with unshed tears, she evidently sensed his confusion and leaned close to whisper in his ear. "Credence is here."

Both of the Aurors' attentions were torn away back to Newt as they heard a rattle of chains and several muffled moans of pain. Grindelwald was orchestrating the chains surrounding Newt like a conductor with overly elaborate movements of his wand – clearly putting on a show for the gathered followers. It was a cruel game that Grindelwald was playing, and Newt seemed to be well used to it, judging by the lack of fight he put up as he was manhandled by magic to crumple at Grindelwald's feet. Not like there was anything he could have done about it in his condition.

Some of Newt's limbs seemed to be completely unresponsive and Theseus cringed as he witnessed how his younger brother's leg seemed to be wrenched bonelessly beneath him at all the wrong angles. As the Magizoologist was forced to kneel, Theseus felt horror at the glimpses of burnt streaks of flesh he caught through the shredded material of Newt's shirt and waistcoat.

He could practically _taste_ the pretence in the air. There seemed to be a hunger for suffering, a _need_ a for violence emanating from the assembled witches and wizards that rose like a heatwave around them. It was sickening. The only thing keeping him pinned to the spot was the tight grip that Tina had on his hand, it was almost as if she was using him as an anchor to keep herself from rushing forward. The grip reminded him not to do the same, he was anchored by her as much as she was by him. The mutual support was unexpectedly bolstering.

That resolve was tested to its extremes however, when the horrible metal muzzle dropped from Newt's face and Theseus began to shake with barely repressed rage. Newt's pale face was marred by long, blistered, bloody lines that ran along where the device had been – the skin was clearly very painful, and Newt's eyes held high levels of relief to be rid of it. The very idea that Grindelwald had muzzled Newt like he was some sort of vicious dog sickened Theseus more than he could express, and he had to let go of Tina's hand for fear of crushing it in his clenched fist. His breath was now coming out in short harsh pants through his nose as his gritted teeth would not seem to part enough to allow for normal breathing.

He tuned himself back into Grindelwald's words just as the man leant down and continued to address Newt in a clearly provocative manner. "Now, now Newt, you're amongst friends here. Go ahead and speak your mind. Tell everyone how wrong I am."

Theseus could see how hard Newt was trying to keep strong, it was heart-breaking to witness a sweet, undeserving man such as Newt, suffer like this – to be so abused and close to breaking. But the resolute set of his face as he looked up at Grindelwald made Theseus feel a thrill of pride shoot through him at his little brother's perseverance. If nothing else, the naïve idiot was certainly stubborn. Unfortunately, that double-edged trait may well have been what drew Grindelwald's attention to him in the first place.

"You want a better world Newt, I know you do. One where you would no longer be an outcast, an expelled student, a disappointment to your family – underappreciated by those who simply do not understand your true potential." The words were clearly laced with enticement, and Newt felt a wave of shame flood through him at them – was he really so blatant with his disapproval of Newt? So much so that even _Grindelwald_ was aware of it? He knew he could be hard on him sometimes, but Newt knew that he did it because he cared about him… didn't he?

Theseus was shocked when Newt finally raised his head and opened his mouth to speak; clearly struggling to find the strength to do so. "Manipulating those around you and having to justify every step of your existence to yourself and others is not the way to be. The ends do not always justify the means if it means the deaths or subjugation of countless others. No one is ever really as alone as they feel... there will always be someone willing to lend a hand in friendship."

Warmth filled Theseus chest as his brother spoke so honestly and there was that surge of pride again; it even abated a little of his building rage. That pride almost doubled as he saw the crowd part as Credence went to leave – his ridiculous little brother had convinced the Obscurial to abstain from joining Grindelwald. That should at least make Graves satisfied if nothing else, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw several Aurors flit out of the tent after Credence.

That was when there was a loud crack that filled the previously quiet tent. Theseus' horrified gaze was drawn back solely to his brother as Grindelwald lost the last semblance of sanity he seemed to have been maintaining and began to use his wand to effectively flay Newt alive. The cracks and screams became the only things Theseus could hear, the jeering and laughing tuned out around him, fading into insignificance in the face of his baby brother's suffering.

He felt frozen in place in utter horror. Each invisible lash of the Elder Wand that struck Newt seemed to slow down in perfect clarity in Theseus' head – the magic flaying layers of skin from the muscle beneath in vicious, bloody precision.

One, two, three, four- across the back.

 _Gasps of agony that rose in volume with each strike._

One, two- across the left side.

 _Gasps turning into tortured moans._

One, two, three, four, five- across the chest.

 _The third strike resulted in the first scream which tore through Theseus worse than the magic tore_ _through Newt._

One across the other side.

 _A gasping scream_

Two more across the back.

 _The first sob left his trembling lips accompanied by another scream._

One across the back of his already mangled leg.

 _Newt seemed senseless as Theseus spotted the white of exposed bone through the blood coating_ _Newt's legs._

He wasn't sure exactly what snapped him out of his horror induced reverie, but whatever it was did so with a powerful vengeance. Theseus let out a roar of rage and barrelled straight through the sadistic bastards surrounding him; uncaring for the presences of Percival and Tina, or for the power of the dark wizard in front of him. All he cared about right now was getting to his baby brother and killing the monster that was brutalising him.

Growing up with Newt had introduced him to a large variety of dangerous magical creatures over his lifetime, but the word monster now seemed an inadequate description for what he was now facing. Gellert Grindelwald was far worse than that.

He barely registered calling Newt's name, though he could feel his lips moving to shape the familiar word over and over. What he was aware however, was his wand coming up to blast Grindelwald off his feet and into one of the nearby cages. There was a satisfying clunking sound as the man struck the metal, but Theseus did not take any time to savour it. Instead he sent a quick flurry of hexes towards the man, which were deflected with astounding dexterity as Grindelwald rose back up onto his leather clad feet.

Theseus' face was red with rage as he sent every nasty spell, hex, jinx and curse he could of at the man who had hurt Newt. Behind him, he was dimly aware of people apparating, fighting and running left, right and centre. He heard Graves calling orders to his Aurors as they engaged the followers who had decided to stay to defend their misplaced hero.

Theseus' attention was soon solely focussed on the duel however as Grindelwald began to retaliate, all the while deflecting or diffusing Theseus' spells as if it were nothing. The smirk of the other wizard's face only stoked Theseus' rage further as he increased the intensity of his attacks with a snarl of fury. The duel was only brought to a halt when a deflected jinx of Theseus' found a new target with an appalling finality.

Both wizards looked over to where Newt was now lying prone on his back, still trapped by the chains securing him to the ground, but the restraints were now stretched to their taut limits as Newt had been blasted backwards. Theseus was running forwards before he even registered the action, skidding to crouch down beside his injured brother.

Up close, Theseus could smell the acrid stench of burnt flesh and could see the combination of stinging, bloody and branded marks all over his body through his ripped clothing. He felt tears burn the backs of his eyes as he witnessed the crumpled, broken state of Newt's arm and leg, the wounds on his leg exposing the broken bone underneath with nauseating clarity.

Newt's head was slumped back, his eyes closed, and his breathing laboured, but the position of his neck pulled up his shirt, in turn exposing the upper part of his chest and neck. The symbol of the Deathly Hallows was burnt viciously, deeply into his brother's flesh, the skin around the wound was red, veined with black and angry looking.

"Mr Scamander the elder I presume." Grindelwald's amused tone sounded behind him and Theseus turned his blistering glare up to meet the other wizard's unfathomable one. Grindelwald did not have his wand raised, only holding it lightly in his grip at his side, but the threat it represented was still clear. Theseus knew he had put himself into a foolishly vulnerable position, but the fear that had clenched his heart when his _own spell_ had hurt Newt had overridden all his sense.

"Why do this to Newt?! He doesn't deserve this!" Theseus snarled, flinching when he heard a soft whimper come from Newt. He placed a hand on his brother's feverish feeling forehead - careful of the burnt skin - and ran his hand gently through his gingery-blonde hair in a familiar soothing gesture. Newt's confused, hazy blue eyes flickered open at the motion and flitted around for a few moments before landing on Grindelwald and he flinched back slightly into Theseus.

"Now I don't believe that I was the one to hurt him this time. You really should be more careful with your spells Auror Scamander." Theseus gritted his teeth at the low blow, feeling shame flicker through him at the truth in the man's words, but rage quickly overcame it once more.

"It's a-almo-st f-funny h-how of-ften you seem-m to j-justify yours-self using t-that t-technicality." Theseus' sharp gaze snapped down to Newt, who seemed to be somewhat more aware of his surroundings as he eyed Grindelwald with exhausted, bloodshot eyes. He heard a snarl rise from Grindelwald's throat and he raised his wand in anger, Theseus diving for his own wand at the same moment, before a cold voice cut through the tension.

"I wouldn't advice it, Mr Grindelwald." Graves was now standing across from where Theseus crouched with the huddled Newt; leaving him and his brother in the middle of the crossfire. The senior Auror began to mentally question Graves' choice of tactical positioning, before he saw Tina and two other Aurors flanking Grindelwald on the other side. The tent was now empty apart from the assembled Aurors, Newt and Grindelwald.

"Percival, a pleasure as always." Grindelwald spoke with a nauseating smile on his pale lips. Graves' own lips pursed, and his façade of stern professionalism cracked slightly, revealing the anger and repressed emotion beneath.

"That would be _Director Graves_ to you." He corrected, a muscle jumping in his clenched jaw.

"Even after we got to know one another so well?" Grindelwald asked with a raised eyebrow and a gesture of both arms being thrown slightly out to the side. "Though I will admit it may have been a tad one sided, it was difficult for you to ask any personal questions with the state you were in I suppose."

Grindelwald was clearly trying to goad Graves into breaking, he was attempting to use the clearly traumatic history between them to his advantage. The only way the assembled Aurors would stand a chance was if Graves kept a straight head.

"In fact, I believe you may recognise this little beauty from out time together." Grindelwald flicked his wand and the metal muzzle flew from where it had dropped earlier and hovered in front of Graves' now chalk-white face. Uncharacteristic tremors ran through the man's hands as he cast the muzzle to the side with a flick of his own wand and he fixed a stricken, furious gaze upon Grindelwald.

"I must say that I much prefer it on you however, Newt." Theseus felt his younger brother tremble slightly as the dark wizard's taunting gaze turned to fall upon him instead. Theseus stood and placed himself firmly in front of his sibling, blocking him as much as he could from any further harm that Grindelwald could inflict upon him. Newt had suffered more than he ever deserved to.

"If you surrender now, I might just consider skipping the _very_ satisfying stage where I inflict upon you just a _little_ of what I did to Abernathy." Theseus kept his tone as steady as he could, but he knew his eyes told Grindelwald the true extent of his wrath. Graves, Tina and the other two Aurors had been slowly moving closer throughout the confrontation and were now directly in front of and behind the dark wizard. Grindelwald glanced around and seemed even more amused by this.

"Now, now boys and girls, I do encourage you to play by the rules." With those words he sent a column of blue fire running in a spiral around himself, Theseus, Graves and Newt. Tina and the two Aurors were forced to leap back as the fire formed a protective ring, all three attempted to perform the _Aguamenti_ spell, but to no avail. All attempts at hexes or charms seemed to evaporate in the blue flames like they were nothing.

Theseus and Graves both advanced on Grindelwald with elevated wands - steel and hatred of matching intensity in both of their eyes. Newt was still wilting on the ground between them, trapped in his hunched position by his injuries and bonds, but a flick of Grindelwald's wand released the younger wizard from the chains. Newt straightened as much as he was able, tears leaking from his pain filled blue eyes as his multiple wounds bled, strained and burned in protest.

Theseus was about to lean forward to pull Newt behind him when a paralysis spell struck him from behind, throwing him to the ground beside his brother. He heard a corresponding thud as Graves too joined him on the ground – just as paralysed as he was. He could not move an inch of his body but could still see what was going on above him, as Abernathy stepped into the circle of fire - seemingly unaffected by the flames. The battered man looked very satisfied to have gotten some form of payback for his earlier assault. If Abernathy was here, then what had happened to Queenie? How had he gotten free?

Those ponderings were expelled from Theseus' mind however as he saw Grindelwald deliberately move into his and Graves' limited lines of sight. He offered the paralyzed men a grim smile. "As much as I would love to stay and continue to reminisce, I need you two rather influential gentlemen to relay a message to Albus Dumbledore."

He reached back, and Theseus's heart clenched in his mostly immobile chest, as he heard Newt cry out in pain as he was grabbed by the hair and dragged over to Grindelwald's side. Newt's one good arm came up to try to relieve the tight grip in his hair by clutching at the older wizard's waistcoat, his fingers fumbling blindly above him as he sought release, his face scrunched in agony.

"Please make it exceedingly clear to Albus, that if he does not meet me at Nurmengard Castle in two days' time, then Newt will continue to live and _suffer_ as long as he does. I trust you need no further proof of my honesty in this matter." Grindelwald's mouth was set in an ugly line as he met Theseus' wide eyes with dark conviction. "Make him believe or I assure you that you will _all_ live to regret it."

Newt was hauled up onto his one good leg with another cry of agony, his hand dropping away from the other wizard, releasing something silvery and shiny to drop to the ground by Theseus' head, though it went unnoticed by anyone else and Theseus couldn't find it in himself to care.

There was a crack of apparation as Grindelwald, Newt and then Abernathy disappeared. The circle of sapphire flame disappeared, and Graves and Theseus suddenly found themselves mobile once more.

The elder Scamander brother pushed himself into a sitting position and began to slam his fist repeatedly into the blood-stained dirt floor. Stained with _Newt's_ blood. He had failed.

 **A/N – I am a terrible human being and I'm very sorry, but the pen-name should have told you guys what you were getting into. Thanks for the reviews guys! APU feedback is craved and appreciated greatly.**


	19. 19 - 'Unfinished Business'

**"I looked in the mirror, but something was wrong, I saw you behind, but my reflection was gone, there was smoke in the fireplace as white as the snow, a voice beckoned gently, "Now it's time to go." A requiem played as you begged for forgiveness, "Don't touch me", I screamed, "I've got unfinished business" – 'Unfinished Business' – White Lies**

Queenie did not respond to Dumbledore straight away. Even without her usual ability to see into the minds of others, she could tell that this man was clearly not quite himself… there was something just _off_ in general. Even though she had not met him before, she was of course aware of the great Albus Dumbledore by reputation, as well as from the memories of both Theseus and Newt. The impressions she had gathered from them had been of a kindly, older man who almost perfectly fit the role of the serene, wise, though still kindly, mentor she saw before her. But looking at him sitting across from her, she could tell that he wasn't himself.

The blue eyes were just _too_ bright and wide, the smile he offered was hazy and rather strained. The way he held his tea cup that bit too tightly in one finely tremoring hand was enough to heighten her suspicions. Something wasn't quite right here. He seemed to note her gaze and placed the teacup down onto the blue embroidered tablecloth with a seemingly focussed movement – almost as if he were self-conscious about it.

Queenie put down her own cup as well, straightening in her chair, one hand going to subtly grip her wand in her dress pocket. He clearly noticed this action too as his gaze came back up to meet hers, leaning forward slightly onto the table between them and rested his chin upon laced fingers. His white shirtsleeves were rolled to his elbows and his plum coloured waistcoat hung open, clearly having settled in for the evening and not having expected company, though, even at this late hour, he was clearly heading to his bed anytime soon.

Why had Grindelwald sent her here? To the home of the one wizard who could supposedly defeat him? Was this some sort of trick? Was this even the real Albus Dumbledore? Queenie felt another wave of tears push at the back of her eyes as the dizzying waves of confusion rolled over her once more. She just wished that this would all stop! She wanted to be safe at home in New York, she wanted to be curled up in her Jacob's arms and be free from all this horrible uncertainty. Having her mind feeling so empty for so long was having a more dramatic effect than she would have thought possible – never before had she spent so much time around people whose minds were so well hidden from her. Getting involved with all these powerful, secretive, manipulative wizards was difficult enough without the added challenge of not being able to use her natural gifts.

There was suddenly a hand on top her own on the table and she jumped so badly she nearly knocked her cup onto the floor. Dumbledore gave her a slight smile, his bright blue eyes glimmering brighter than ever, but as he leant that bit closer, Queenie abruptly recognised the smell that was coming from the man. It was something that she had smelt several times before in her own apartment, when Tina had brewed batches of the aptly named 'Wide-eye' potion. She had done so to keep awake on back-to-back shifts in her early career as an Auror, back when she had not been allowed anywhere near enough time to rest, so had brewed the relatively simple potion to stave off the pangs of sleep deprivation.

It hadn't been long before her sister had collapsed on a shift and Queenie had had to ween her off the stuff. The potion in itself was not addictive, but when combined with an Invigoration potion to counteract the exhaustion, as it often was, it could lead to some rather serious issues. Including lapses in memory and erratic behaviour, as well as instability that could in turn lead to a breakdown. The bitter-sweet scent was so familiar due to its pervasive nature, she remembered the batty old landlady Mrs Esposito complaining about the stench that was coming from their shared rooms for weeks afterwards.

She looked on Dumbledore with a new level of confusion at the realisation. Why the hell would someone like Dumbledore resort to drinking such a risky cocktail of potions? He looked practically ill now that she came to think of it and she allowed the repressed tears to glide slowly down her cheeks. "Why would you…?"

Dumbledore sighed, and it was an inescapably weary sound. He patted her hand softly, if a bit clumsily, before sitting back in his chair, a hand at his lined temples, rubbing at them lightly with his thumb and forefinger. "I apologise if I appear out of sorts, Miss Goldstein, just as I am sorry for your involvement in the matter." He let out a huff of breath, that was so brittlely humoured it sounded like it would break. "Grindelwald's whims of occasional affection are as self-serving as they ever were, it seems."

"Sorry, what-? I don't understand?" Queenie said, flummoxed as ever.

"He allowed you to leave, did he not? He sent you to me?" Dumbledore asked, his gaze still hazy, but with something harder solidifying underneath – like rock seen through the flowing water of a murky river. Queenie nodded slowly.

"I believe it was meant as a show of good faith, both to Newt as well as myself." Dumbledore's vague half-explanations had pushed Queenie to the end of her quickly shortening rope and she found herself snapping at him.

"Mercy Lewis! Can you _please_ be a bit more helpful? What is it with you Brits and not being able to give a straight answer?"

Dumbledore seemed slightly taken aback by her outburst and straightened in his chair some more, offering her an apologetic quirk of the lips before speaking. "Gellert Grindelwald and I have known one another for some time and I believe that he sent you to me as a gesture of both assistance as well as punishment."

He sighed again, and Queenie could sense a slight fluctuation in the lack of mental presence coming from the man - it was almost as if the Occlumency barriers were being realigned. She could now sense the uppermost layer of emotions in his thoughts – vague impressions of sleepless nights and such a specific brand of suffering that even the unclear trace of it, left her breathing harder in anxiety. It felt as though the man was trying to abstain from sleep for fear of what would find him in those vulnerable hours. Did he fear nightmares? Whatever would a man like Dumbledore be so afraid of, that he would resort to drugging himself into a perpetual state of awareness?

"Sweetie, what's got you so hell-bent on running?" Queenie couldn't help the concern that leaked through her, the genuine pain the man was in was enough to convince her that he was not attempting to trick her. He was likely no danger to her, but from what she could gather – he was a danger to himself.

Dumbledore regarded her with some curiosity before he ran a hand brusquely over his bearded chin, closing his eyes for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was low and rough. "I run from what I have allowed to happen. I run from the things that I caused by my actions, by my _inaction_. Gellert is the epitome of everything I once aspired to be. Strength, beauty and a clear vision of the future that shone with our warped ideals of what the world should be." He swallowed, eyes focussed on the fire dancing in the grate behind Queenie. "Now, not only does he represent all that I regret in my life, but he dangles my own mislaid plans in front of me. He has turned my own endeavours against me and is intent on destroying Newt in the process."

Queenie sat, eyes shining in the firelight and with her tears, she could sense that Dumbledore was speaking more as an alleviation of his pain rather than _to_ her. Maybe that was what he had meant when he said that Grindelwald had sent her to him as an assistance – was she here to be a relief for his tensions? But why? She sensed the barriers in his mind further lowering as he spoke, feeding the seeds of his words with the images and emotions that accompanied them. She could see flashes of bitter memories – impressions of his immense guilt, his fear and his brilliant, abused mind. It was heart-breaking.

"Every night since he took Newt, he has plagued my every weak moment with visions of what he has done. Things he intends to do. I resorted to such drastic measures to avoid sleep only so that I could retain some semblance of propriety for the sake of my students, and more recently, as a way to be able to face Gellert when the time comes."

Queenie looked deeper into his mind as it bloomed slowly open, like the layers of a flower, allowing her to plum the depths of his complex, bright mind. It was unlike any mind she had ever been in before. The structure felt more like an ever-expanding spider's web of interconnected, glowing strands of thought. Most minds seemed like a barely organised mess of colours, emotions and experiences – Dumbledore's felt more like an architect's design. Elaborate and carefully structured to retain information, control emotional responses and interweave strands at a whim. But, as brilliant as it was, she couldn't escape the wracking guilt and regret that lingered in those web strands like dew. Weighing each thread down, threatening to shatter the whole complex, fragile thing.

She looked upon the much older, wiser man with a heavy heart and teary eyes. He was baring his suffering to her because he knew that she would be able to see deeper than if he merely tried to explain it in words. There was likely no way to explain verbally the full pantheon of emotions he was experiencing right now without the risk of misinterpretation. He opened up to her, despite her being a complete stranger, because he valued her natural gift for empathy that had formed the bedrock of her person. Dumbledore had kept his mind and heart shielded for so many years, only allowing brief cracks in his armour of seeming omnipotence to those he deemed truly trustworthy… like Newt.

Flowing through his memories, Queenie found multiple series of interjoining images of Newt – cast in a warm light of fondness. Especially after the affair with Leta Lestrange allowing Newt to be expelled for her crimes - Dumbledore had seen the goodness in Newt then… but also the need he had to help those he cared about, even at severe detriment to himself. Dumbledore saw him as a pure soul; one who was all but incorruptible to the evils of the world, but he had also seen Newt as an opportunity. A way to break free from his helpless state in terms of opposing Grindelwald. She saw the process of his blood-bond flicker through his memories, rapid and jumbled, as if he did not wish to dwell further upon it than was necessary. That strand of memory seemed to glow with an eerie silvery light, veined through with lines of blood red. Queenie gathered the impressions and shared experiences over years of separate life. It seemed that the blood-bond had connected them through more than just the vow they made – intense memories flowed from one to another every night since the bond was made.

There were dreams in Dumbledore's mind that were shared visions of what Grindelwald had experienced. And Dumbledore had tried everything he could think of to block them out - Occlumency, potions, spells, charms and sheer willpower… but nothing had worked. The connection was blood-deep and inescapable. There had been a sense of reluctant acceptance to the forced bond over the past decades within Dumbledore, but over the past four days… it had become much worse. In every sleeping moment, he had bean assaulted with images and sounds of what Grindelwald had done to Newt – replayed and remixed in graphic detail _over_ and _over_ and _over again_.

 _Newt screaming and writhing under Grindelwald's wand as the Cruciatus Curse assaulted him with unimaginable agony for_ hours _._

 _Newt being flayed alive by Grindelwald in front of a crowd of laughing onlookers._

 _Newt being burnt and imbued with dark magic as Grindelwald carved into his skin the symbol that he had once shared with Dumbledore._

 _Newt being shocked repeatedly with bolts of energy that made his abused body spasm uncontrollably against harsh metal restraints._

 _Grindelwald's delighted, appalling thoughts as he watched Newt suffer over and over in increasingly brutal and degrading ways._

The images had been blurred and mixed into one another so many times in Dumbledore's head that he had seen no other option but to abstain from sleep in order to preserve his sanity. But, by far the worst part for Dumbledore had been knowing that **_he_** was the one who steered Newt into the sights of Grindelwald. That it was **_he_** who had incited the jealousy and ire of the man he still loved, enough so that he had felt the need to take it out on Newt.

The knowledge that Grindelwald was fixating upon his student and close friend because Dumbledore had practically thrown him into his path in an attempt to end the man's fanatical crusade. He had hoped that Newt's unique set of skills would have been able to capture Grindelwald so that Dumbledore would never have to enact the sacrifice he knew breaking the blood-bond would require.

It had been a choice between sending a skilled individual such as Newt to challenge Grindelwald, or to directly sacrifice that individual with no hope of their survival. His choice had been made based upon his faith in Newt's pure heart and his unswerving ability to surprise him. It was his fault that Grindelwald was going to crush that heart.

No wonder the man had drugged himself so heavily and recklessly. It was all utterly appalling.

Queenie broke free from the twisted web of his mind with a loud gasp, shuddering as the tears streamed uncontrollably down her face. That poor man, that poor, haunted man.

"I'm s-so…. s-sorry… y-ou… oh you p-poor t-thing-g…" Her broken, sob-cracked voice petered off. There was nothing she could say that could help him. She didn't even know him. Delving into his mind was an incomparable privilege and risk. She couldn't quite believe that he had lowered his heavily-built defences to allow her to see inside. Queenie guessed that even the most indestructible, legendary and wise of men held their own insecurities and burdens… she had just never imagined it would be quite so much.

"I… did not intend to share quite so much as I did, but I will admit that it comes to some relief to do so. The only thing more painful than memory is one that is a burden held alone." Dumbledore's own bright blue eyes were shining with tears, but only a few tracked their way down his pale, drawn, bearded face. Queenie shook her head softly at him and offered him a watery smile.

"Thank you for your understanding, Miss Goldstein… I cannot imagine that this was something you were ever prepared for." His brows furrowed subtly as he stood, moving over to a cabinet by the fire and withdrawing a bottle of expensive looking Fire-whiskey and two glasses. He could have easily summoned the drinks with magic, but he seemed to want to relieve some of the mounted tension – both in the room and in himself – through the physical act. His mental defences were firmly back in place now and Queenie allowed herself several deep, shaky, calming breaths to soothe her roiling, exhausted mind.

She took the proffered glass and downed the fiery liquid in one gulp – shuddering slightly as the drink burned through her system with an invigorating fire that left her skin tingling. "Thanks…"

Dumbledore nodded wordlessly and finished his own drink in several more mediated sips, seeming to relax slightly as a light flush went into his cheeks. He glanced toward the elaborate brass gilded clock on the mantelpiece and Queenie realised that it was now well past midnight. From the guilt-ridden memories she had witnessed, she knew that Grindelwald's deadline was tomorrow. They did not have much time to act before Grindelwald decided to do something increasingly horrific to Newt.

She chanced a look back at Dumbledore again, her voice hesitant as she asked "What are you going to do? About Newt? And Grindelwald? You are gonna do something, right?"

He sighed and this time it was not a weary sound, but one of resigned acceptance. "I will face the demons of my past and do whatever I can to ensure that Newt suffers no more because of my failures."

"But what about the blood-pact? What're you gonna do about-" Queenie's question was cut off as there was a knock at the front door. She started and jumped to her feet drawing her wand in the process. Was it one of Grindelwald's followers coming back to collect her? Or was it the man himself come to challenge Dumbledore in his moment of vulnerability?

Dumbledore, however, did not appear alarmed and offered her a brief smile before going to answer the door. She heard his voice from the hallway, softly greeting someone before there were the sounds of multiple sets of hurried footsteps that led back to the living room door. Queenie almost felt her heart burst with relief as she heard the thoughts of and then saw the face of, her teary-faced, distraught looking sister. She was panicked, tired looking and rumpled in the same clothes as when Queenie had last seen her. From her jumbled thoughts, Queenie gathered that she had thought Queenie was injured, captured or dead at the hands of Abernathy. Tina hadn't yet realised what she had almost done. And as she was embraced in a bone-crushing hug, Queenie couldn't bring herself to tell her.

"You're alive… thank Lewis you're alive…" Tina's sobbed into her shoulder and Queenie could only nod back, gripping her tighter before holding her back at arms-length when she heard more footsteps and felt familiar minds brush against her own. Percival Graves and Theseus Scamander stepped into the room behind her sister, followed a moment after by Dumbledore.

"I took the liberty of contacting your sister as soon as my wards told me you were here, I thought she would rather want to see you." Dumbledore's voice was now airy – collected, but Queenie could tell that it was a practiced calm that was meant to reassure her and present a strong front for the distressed men. Every mind in the room was focussed upon one thing, in varying degrees of priority, but with similar mixes of emotions and motivations in each.

Saving Newt.

 **A/N – Hope this was an okay instalment – I found this chapter very difficult to write.**


	20. 20 - 'After the Storm'

**"And now I cling to what I knew, I saw exactly what was true. But oh no more, that's why I hold, that's why I hold with all I have, that's why I hold. And I won't die alone and be left there. Well I guess I'll just go home, Oh God knows where. Because death is just so full and man so small. Well I'm scared of what's behind and what's before." – 'After the Storm' – Mumford and Sons**

 **"And you rip it from my hands, and you swear it's all gone, and you rip out all I have, just to say that you've won." – 'I gave you all' – Mumford and Sons**

Newt drifted in and out of sleep for a few hours, every shift or twitch causing a new wave of pain that would jolt him awake again. Eventually, he gave up and rose, swinging his abused body up to rest his legs stiffly on the edge of the bed. He noticed in a vague, distant way that the previously white sheets were stained in places with his blood. _Red. Red. Red_. It seemed to be such a common colour in the new world of constant suffering that he had been thrown – or maybe pulled? _Jumped?_ – into.

He felt the familiar call of his abused body's needs, which had been ignored for so long. Thirst and the need to relieve himself. The solution to both issues seemed to have been pre-empted as there was a bucket by the bottom of the bed and a pewter goblet of what looked to be water on the chair in the corner. He felt as though the water was another test however, as Grindelwald was obviously well-aware of his current state. Newt grit his teeth and used the metal bed-frame to push himself to his one good leg, then leaning heavily against the stone wall to pull his way in a drunken stumble across the room.

It seemed like hours before he made the matter of five feet, but finally, he reached it and practically collapsed upon the chair after grabbing the goblet in one shaking hand. He brought it to his dry lips and savoured the sweet relief it brought to his bile-burned throat and dry mouth. As he dragged himself over the wall to stand shakily over the bucket, he considered it slightly odd that the need to urinate had not been an issue until now. He was aware that there were spells that could remove waste from the body or repress the need to expel it, but having never used the spells himself, he had not attempted them – even if he had been able. Hadn't thought of it really, what with the pretty diverting distraction he had been given by a certain deranged dark wizard. He doubted that Grindelwald would have thought or cared enough about his dignity or wellbeing to perform such spells. But honestly, nothing would particularly surprise him at this point – just one more thing to hold over his head, just one for indignity to inflict upon him. The man just _loved_ to control.

The man seemingly had no sense of shame nor any idea of what sane behaviour was. For instance, feeding someone's relative to them in some demented attempt at showing 'affection'... Newt fought violently with the urge to retch emptily into the bucket as he finished his business, rebuttoned his boxers and then executed a semi-controlled collapse back onto the bed. He lay there, shivering in the chilly air, but lacking the energy or effort to pull to blanket over himself, he instead curled in on himself. Some of the half-healed wounds along his back and sides split open once more at the movement, but he couldn't bring himself to care all that much.

In the rare moments of reprieve from Grindelwald's overbearing presence he thought longingly of his creatures. He hoped that they were safe in Dumbledore's care and that the man was finding the time to care for them. He felt more guilt eat at his abused mind at the thought of all the trouble he was putting his friend to as of late. Instead of helping him to defeat Grindelwald and avoid him having to face an old pain, he had instead made things much worse. He had failed Dumbledore, his brother, Queenie and his creatures. He did not doubt that Albus would provide adequate treatment for his beasts, but he longed to re-join them in his case – even if for one last time.

The young ones and expecting mothers would be confused and upset by his absence - they wouldn't understand. Newt felt tears prick at his eyes at the thought of the plaintive wails that the baby Occamy would make when they discovered that their surrogate mother was gone for good. Despite what people assumed about the snake-like creatures, they were in fact, rather sweet and fiercely intuitive - especially when it came to the matter of family. Since he had found them crying lamentingly in their half-trampled nest, left by their poacher-killed mother, he had raised the young as best he could. Had even hatched one of them during his trip to New York – it had been one of the first magical creatures that Jacob had been introduced to. They had transferred their affection and dependency onto Newt – would they cry for him, like they had for their birth-mother? It clenched Newt's aching heart so much that he couldn't breathe - to think of all the creatures in his care that would feel the pangs of abandonment with him gone.

He had not given up on the idea that he could still see them again someday, but he had accepted the reality that it was not a likely scenario. Even should Dumbledore manage to find a way to destroy the blood-pact and then succeed in defeating Grindelwald, he doubted that the dark wizard would not have some sort of contingency plan set in place. Whether his death be enacted as a final curse from the wizard himself or as a post-mortem order carried out by some loyal underling – Newt was fairly sure that he wasn't going to escape this situation alive and most certainly not unscathed. The scars and dark magic that were woven into his flesh and soul would not be healed by any number of spells or amount of time.

The best he could hope to do was minimise Grindelwald's impact upon the lives of his friends and family before he went. He would protect them as much as he was able, no matter what it would take – his creatures and the humans in his life were still capable of remaining safe, as long as they kept out of Grindelwald's way. Queenie and Tina had already attempted to help him, which he very much appreciated, even if it added another weight of anxiety to his chest for their safety. The least he could do was draw away any unwanted attention from them – a feat that should be relatively easy to achieve going by the amount of unhealthy attention Grindelwald had showing him thus far. Newt knew how to get under the man's skin already. Should the worst come to the worst - which knowing Grindelwald, it probably would – he could distract him long enough to give them a chance to defeat the dark wizard. Sometimes, all it could take was one spell making its way past a shield in a moment of distraction. The little things could sometimes be the most important.

It was almost certain that Percival and Theseus would also continue to pursue Grindelwald, he knew both men to be incredibly dedicated to their Auror work as well as being avidly opposed to Grindelwald's fanatical crusade. The fear and rage he had witnessed on Theseus' face and in his voice had surprised him. In his Auror work, Theseus was usually so professional collected – nothing like what Newt had seen at the rally in Paris. He had been genuinely scared. While he knew that his brother had good reason to be angry with _him_ for most of the time, what with his deviant behaviour and the… issues with Leta, he had still not expected quite so violent a reaction from Theseus towards Grindelwald.

Neither had he expected Percival to demonstrate any sort of sign of vulnerability as he had at the rally – the pain that Newt had glimpsed in his deep brown eyes had been alarming. Newt had thought of Percival as a rock – a creature of stoic fortitude that could not be shaken by anything. Even when he had first met the real man, he had not demonstrated any signs that his captivity had broken him any further than some shakiness, gruffness and confusion as Newt had transported him to the nearest hospital. Not having met the man before then, it had been difficult to gauge what effect – if any – Grindelwald had had on him, but from what he had gathered from Tina, Percival had not changed much at all. Their frequent letters had been an easier way to communicate for both of them – Newt with his uncomfortableness around people and Graves with his gruff, professional nature.

Newt had supposed that the Director had wanted to keep tabs on him for the purpose of making sure he wasn't planning to return to New York and cause any more trouble, or perhaps some misplaced duty he might feel to thank Newt for being the one to discover his absence. Whatever the case had been, their initially formal sounding letters had developed into a more comfortable tone that had begun the burgeoning bond between the two – sharing snippets of each other's history and opinions. The paper they used to write the letters had all been charmed and warded by Percival as to keep the personal information away from prying eyes – ever diligent, especially after Grindelwald's invasion into his life. Newt had thought that he at least helped to begin the healing process for Percival; having had enough experienced with caged, abused and wounded animals that were initially too stubborn to receive help to know that it would take time for the man to open up and consequentially heal.

He had revealed snippets – vaguely worded truths about what Grindelwald had done to him whilst holding him captive, but Newt was now beginning to appreciate more than ever that the man had been holding back even more than he had thought. If Newt himself had experienced even a fraction of what Percival had in the months he was locked away, then he didn't know how the man had ever gone back to work - let alone actively kept on hunting after and facing down Grindelwald. Newt could understand the need to busy himself with strenuous and heavily involved work to take one's mind off horrors most didn't ever experience, but to actually go after the source of what had caused those atrocities….? Newt knew that after this – if there _was_ an 'after this' – he would never want to face Grindelwald ever again if he had any choice in the matter. Percival Graves was probably the bravest man that he had ever met – yet another reason why he admired the older man. He was stronger than Newt could ever think himself to be.

There was a part of Newt that wanted to ignore the avid, alarming interest that Grindelwald was showing him – the looks, touches and words that hinted that he wanted more than just to make tool out of him. He was not quite so ignorant of human behaviour that he didn't realise just _what_ those lingering caresses and brief moments of near-affection might mean, but his remaining remnants of optimism tried desperately to push those thoughts off to just being the sadistic whims of a madman. A way to get at Dumbledore through him, a way to degrade and alarm Newt further. But there was that little unnameable voice in the back of his head again, whispering and warning him of the deplorable hunger that resided in Grindelwald's treatment of him.

 _His interest is in more than just your association with Albus, he's not just trying to recruit you, he doesn't just want to use you for your talents with creatures._

 _He wants you to_ want _to follow him._

Newt screwed up tighter in his ball on the bed, clamping his hands over his ears in a hopeless attempt to shut out the disturbing thoughts and the truths they were hissing in his mind.

 _He obsesses over what he can't control, and you've presented him with the most delightful challenge yet._

It made no difference and he let out a frustrated moan as the mutterings got louder and more insistent.

 _He's trying to impress you, he tried to buy your affection by doing what he thought would make you happy, even if it was in a deplorable manner._

His fingers tugged violently at his unruly copper hair, pulling at it to distract himself from the whispered words. Sobs caught in the back of his throat, even as he tried to calm himself with deep breaths. Nothing was working.

 _You've managed to garner the enamoured attention of the darkest wizard of all time._

Newt let out a yell and jerked upright against the bedframe when cool hands clamped around his wrists, gently pulling his hands away from where they had created furrowed, bloody lines on the sides of his face with blunt nails. He hadn't realised the damage he was causing himself until that moment and shook his head slightly, as if to clear it, wrists still held in that cool, strong grip.

After several, shudderingly deep breaths, Newt opened his eyes once he felt a better grip of himself. He wasn't quite sure where the outburst had come from, or that persistent, whispering little voice, but he swore to himself that he wouldn't let it get a hold of him like that again. Newt was not going to let himself break apart now, he owed it to those he cared about to stay strong, at least until he could ensure their safety.

The young man felt a fresh jolt to his already hammering heart as he saw just who was holding his wrists. "P-percival…?"

Newt stumbled out the name in shock and confusion; this couldn't be real. How could Percival be here? And right after Newt had been thinking about him? No, something was definitely wrong. It must be another one of Grindelwald's tricks – a manipulation to further invade his privacy. The wizard had been inside his mind again – flicking through his thoughts and memories like his own bloody copy of a well-thumbed novel. What had he asked before? _"where do your attentions lie now?"_

He was trying to use the face of someone Newt cared about to manipulate him. And what better choice of faces than the man he had spent months impersonating? An image he had nearly perfected. Someone who's strength gave Newt hope. The dark brows were furrowed in a perfect parody of stern concern above the warm brown eyes.

A familiar dark flare-sleeved dress-coat, suit and blue-grey scarf hanging loosely around his shoulders – but Grindelwald had added realistic touches to his façade. He wasn't wearing a waistcoat and his white shirt looked to be rather rumpled, simply patterned monochrome tie loosened around the collar.

The man's face was drawn, eyes slightly sunken in darker circles, looking as if he had not slept in some time. His dark, slightly greying hair was not glinting and slicked back quite so carefully as it once had been, strands fell loose into his eyes and lay dishevelled around the shaved areas. He looked worse than he had at the circus rally, more tired; defeated even- NO, stop it! This _wasn't_ Percival. His worry for his friend was carrying away his sense in a tide of careless concern. This was not Percival Graves. It was Gellert Grindelwald. And he was not going to encourage the man's obsessive delusions by allowing him to think that Newt believed the lie so easily.

He jerked his wrists in Grindelwald's grip, attempting to pull them away, but feeling panic rise in his throat as the man did not allow the withdrawal. He continued to tug, averting his gaze from the not-Percival's face as he did so.

"Stop it Newt, you'll only hurt yourself further. I am merely trying to help." The voice that sounded was also Percival's – the deep, New York accented tone perfectly mimicked - but Newt shook his head jerkily, moving to kick at the man's stomach with his good leg. He grunted slightly, releasing Newt to clutch at a spot on his side that was now blooming red through the white shirt. His face was pained as he retreated to the other end of the bed, breathing heavily.

Newt gasped as he remembered the time he had spent visiting Percival in hospital, he had seen the deep curse scarring along Graves' left side – angry red marks crisscrossing in a web of wounds that had remained despite the best attempts of the healers. From what little Percival had told him of the wounds that littered his skin – the ones that had been exposed when healers had come to change the wrappings during Newt's visit – that _particular_ scar had been inflicted by a repeated use of the spell _Diffindo._

Before he even registered the action, Newt had lunged forward, gaze concerned and muttering an apology as he reached forward in a vain attempt to somehow soothe the damage he had just done. There was a part of his brain that told him that this was just another manipulation, but the barely repressed pain on the not-Percival's face was enough to override his common sense – he had hurt the man, re-opened an old wound from a shared enemy. Newt put his shaking hand over top of the other man's on the wound; wishing he had his wand so that he could heal the damage he had inflicted. He hadn't meant to hurt him. "I-I'm s-sorry! I didn't m-mean-"

He stopped himself midsentence, pulling back again as his sense caught up with him at the obscenely dark humour glinting in the man's brown eyes along with the tell-tale waft of Juniper he had scented before on _Grindelwald_. It snapped him back into reality and sense with a furious jolt.

"Stop this! I know you aren't him." Newt levelled a wary, shaky glare at the other man, drawing his one good leg up to his chest in a vain attempt to cover what little of himself that he could. His badly-set leg raised halfway up in an attempt to follow it's partner, but the swollen skin over his disfigured kneecap split before it could do so. Newt felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes, but he refused to let them fall or cry out at the pain – he had already bent enough to Grindelwald's sadistic whims, he wasn't going to allow him the satisfaction of doing it again.

"I had my suspicions about you, Newt." Not-Percival murmured, releasing the hold on his side and moving forward across the bed to hover over Newt, pressing his weight down onto Newt's injured leg with one knee. The pain flared up again hot and sharp, but he swallowed his yelp so all that escaped was a barely heard grunt. He narrowed his eyes at the other wizard, questioning the meaning of his words, but not wanting to give him the satisfaction of hearing the stutter or pain in his voice.

Grindelwald chuckled in Percival's voice and it was a horrible thing. The sound full of Grindelwald's customary derisive sadism but made with Percival's smooth voice. Newt numbly realised that he had never heard the real Graves laugh, the short amount of time he had spent with him in New York had not been at all happy. Though the man had cracked a slight smile when Picket had escaped the confines of Newt's coat pocket and climbed across to sit on the pillow beside his head.

That had been the moment that Newt had become intrigued by Graves – he had expected the abused Auror to be alarmed or angry at the blatant disregard of creature permits involved in carrying around a Bowtruckle in his pocket. But instead, he had merely repressed a fragile smile and handed Pickett back to Newt with one long, ever so slightly trembling finger. The young Magizoologist had accepted the proffered Bowtruckle, his finger brushing Percival's for just a moment before Newt's natural nervousness had prompted him to avoid the other's intense gaze and stand to leave, mumbling about needing to return to his case to feed his creatures.

The smile that was being forced upon Percival's visage now was nothing like that distracted, slightly awkward pull of the lips – it was pure Grindelwald brand sadistic amusement as he moved further forward, pressing Newt up into the wall behind him, the bedrail pressing into his lower back. Newt could tell that he was in his head again and brought his arms up to shove at the other man's chest, though subconsciously avoiding the _not_ -wounded area and instead pushing at his shoulders.

Panic thrummed through him like an electric shock as Grindelwald batted aside his hands easily, pinning Newt further down to the bedframe, the man now practically straddling him. He tried desperately to get his abused, weak body to find the strength to fight the other man off, tried to use his height to his advantage, but not being able to get any leverage from the awkward, pinned position. Even in his transformed state, Grindelwald was still shorter than he, as Graves was the same height as the dark wizard, but Newt still couldn't get the upper hand. Grindelwald was in better shape, well-fed and rested as well as being bodily intact. Newt's wounded and fatigued state was working against him with every attempted push, wriggle or kick.

Seemingly irritated by the continued struggles, Grindelwald let out a low growl and flicked a hand upwards, conjuring those familiar thin silvery chains to bind Newt's wrists to the metal bedframe with a wrench and a clink of cold metal. Contrastingly warm lips suddenly positioned themselves against Newt's neck, placing harsh, sucking, biting kisses along the pale expanse of exposed and as-yet untouched skin. Newt gasped and writhed harder under the ministrations - caught between shock, horror and a twinge of something so shameful he daren't call it pleasure. He could only see the head of dark hair below him as the man moved his mouth down to scrape surprisingly sharp teeth across the tender skin of the Deathly Hallows burned into his neck and upper chest.

This time, he couldn't contain his cry of pain and desperation, this was too much. He pulled blindly on the metal encasing his wrists - animalistic in his need to just _get out_. Surely even Gellert Grindelwald would not stoop this low, would he? He had seemed somewhat earnest in his insinuations that he understood Newt and wanted him to follow him, then why in Merlin's name would he _ever_ think that Newt would want this? The man had been inside his mind -likely still was – couldn't he see that every touch and moment only increased his hatred and resolution to fight the older wizard.

He felt Grindelwald chuckle against his neck and the man's hand went to stroke along Newt's stomach, his hip, playing almost idly with the hem of his boxers. Newt was suffocating. _No, no, no, no-_ the hand paused.

"I guessed that you were fonder of our precious little Percy than you were letting on, but it's not just that is it, mein haustier?" Grindelwald moved Percival's brown eyes up to pierce like fiery daggers into Newt. His lips were smeared with traces of Newt's blood which he licked with apparent relish before continuing. "You don't just have a little shameful crush on the American Director of security, do you? You wanted him even when it wasn't really him. You liked it when you were in that interrogation room with what you thought was a dominating, powerful, handsome Auror. You enjoyed the attention didn't you, Newt? The vulnerability? Well I can give you that."

Newt was shaking his head, tears filling his sea-blue eyes even as the other man moved one hand to rub across his scarred chest, eliciting hisses of pain through gritted teeth as Grindelwald brushed over half-healed burns and lash marks. That hand crept its way up to find Newt's throat and seemed to caress the skin with one long thumb before the grip became harsh. Newt choked as his airways were slowly, intimately cut off. Grindelwald was exerting just enough pressure so that he had to gasp, open-mouthed for every single breath, but there was little danger of him passing out as he loosened and tightened his grip minutely whenever Newt seemed to be drifting away.

What was worse however, was that Grindelwald's was allowing his face to shift between different forms, the hair, nose, eyes and other features shortening, lengthening, darkening and lightening into a seemingly random cycle of the same three faces. Albus, Percival and himself. With every change, he would loosen or tighten his grip, also seemingly at random. Through Newt's hazy, oxygen deprived, horrified mind he witnessed the same mirth flow from one face to the next. Percival's pale, sharp featured face leering down at him. Albus's usually kind blue eyes alit with obscene pleasure that twisted Newt's insides in revulsion. It was _wrong_ , just _wrong_! It was wicked enough that the man was finding such enjoyment in Newt's terror, but using the faces of his friends to display that satisfaction? It made Newt sick to his core.

It was an impossibly cruel game.

The degrading words falling from the shifting lips were obviously exciting the other man as his breath was beginning to come out in shorter, harsher pants, ever-changing eyes gleaming. Grindelwald carried on speaking, his voice too dropping in and out of his own and that of Percival, himself and Albus, words blurring together in Newt's ears and shattered mind as his free hand pushed past the worn elastic of Newt's underwear and he felt fingers brush against his shaft. The tears were flowing uncontrollably down his reddened cheeks now, he couldn't stop them if he tried. He wished that the man would just _stop_. Hadn't he hurt and humiliated him enough already? Apparently not.

"My guess is that you've always had a… _preference_ for men in positions of power. Continually holding associated, unnecessary feelings of shame with the idea of liking the company of other men. Not letting yourself appreciate it or to indulge in what you _really_ want because you were too scared to face further rejection from societies that already shunned you. You buried those feelings as deep as you could but seeing attractive men in _dominating_ roles gave you the contradictory freedom to be submissive – revelling in the fantasies of letting someone else take complete control of you, to alleviate the shame you feel by pretending that you had no choice in it."

Newt's chest jerked with his sobs, while his throat was constricted further, he couldn't take this anymore, it was too much for his abused self to take. He couldn't deny Grindelwald's words. He was _right,_ and he knew it - had likely plucked the truth from the wallowing pits of shame buried deep within Newt's mind. Even amongst the wizarding communities, homosexuality was heavily frowned upon - though it didn't carry any sort of inhumane penalties as it did in the Muggle world - it was still not considered to be healthy or decent by most.

Leta had been the only woman he had ever felt any stirrings of attraction for and that had been at an uncertain, lonely time in his adolescence – the care he felt for her now was dim in comparison. He hadn't dared to tell Theseus that he had never really considered Leta a romantic partner – merely an infatuation born of a shared loneliness, he feared what his brother might have thought of him if he ever mentioned his true… interests. It was better to have people think his lack of curiosity in pursuing a romantic partner was to do with a past love, rather than the true reason. This way, Theseus and Leta could be happy together – that was what was important, wasn't it? It had been lonely, and he had hoped that maybe, just maybe, Percival had wanted to stay in contact with him for a reason other than friendship. It was a terrible, shameful, secret hope for him – that Percival might one day return his affection.

But that did not make what Grindelwald was doing now right. Trying to molest him using the face of a man Newt cared about. It was the vilest of things. The vague twinges of pleasure he was experiencing were not his choice – the stiffening reaction his body was giving Grindelwald's slowly stroking and choking hands were a mere physiological reaction. He wasn't going to allow the dark wizard to make the mistake of thinking that he was going to submit to him _. Not now, not ever._

He pulled on the very last vestiges of fortitude within himself and brought his elbow up to ram harshly into Grindelwald's eye socket with a satisfying _squelch_ just as the man turned his head up to look at Newt with a smirk plastered upon Percival's face. There was a snarl from Grindelwald as he fell back slightly and the stroking, choking hands left Newt to attempt to clutch at his further injured eye. But Newt was not done, his pent-up rage, humiliation, terror, confusion and a slew of other emotions fuelled his next move as he brought his good foot up between them and attempted to awkwardly jam the heel of it into the dark wizard's damaged eye. The eye that had changed back into that of the dark wizard – the familiar icy silver orb surrounded by already reddening bruises.

A powerful force caught his appendage however and jerked it violently back in on itself, Newt letting out a harsh screaming sob as the limb was broken for the second time. This time along the shin bone, it was a new, but still awfully familiar agony. The useless limb flopped down next to its malformed partner. He found himself paralyzed as Grindelwald's wand came up to prod sharply into the bruises forming on his throat, the spell and his fear consuming him. The man shifted fully back into his own form, the last traces of the illusions leaving Grindelwald's own face furious, pained and twisted.

"You should feel fortunate that your friends are here ahead of schedule, Newton, or else I would be tempted to draw out your punishment. As it is, I shall just have to have your friends witness a revised version of it instead - a little pre-duel entertainment for them, hmm?"

At this point, Newt did not care about the reaction to his fight – any torture was better than the degradation Grindelwald had been inflicting upon him. He didn't care what role the man wanted him to fulfil in his diatribe against Dumbledore or the rest of wizard-kind, but whatever it was, he was not going to let the man break him without a bloody good fight.

The eternal fighter within Newt was on its final breaths, beaten, abused and gradually ground down into the dirt by years of suffering – but he swore to himself that the man would not break him until Newt had ensured his defeat. It was the last thing he could cling onto. The idea that he might be able to aid much greater individuals than he in ending this man's insanity before it could engulf the rest of the world in fire and blood. He would use everything he had left to him to distract, to fight Grindelwald, to do whatever he could to give his friends a chance. It wasn't much, but Grindelwald seemed to be one who overlooked those things he thought too simple to be worth his attention.

It was why he hadn't seen the significance of the Swooping Evil in New York – it was why he had overlooked Newt's belief in the strength of his friends and family. All that time sifting through Newt's mind to find what he could use to break or manipulate him, and he had overlooked the simple, but nearly unbreakable faith Newt had that even if he failed, even if he was shattered seemingly beyond all repair… his friends would still be there to pick up the pieces.

For a man who usually thrived upon causing discord between people, Grindelwald had overlooked Newt's faith in his friends simply because he believed that Newt was deep down just as lonely as he was. And he was wrong. Even with Newt's arguments with Theseus, his uncertainties in life and his deviant, oddball status in society… he knew that he could always count on his creatures. Whilst people were liable to betrayal, manipulation and the natural distancing over time, he could always count on the constancy of nature. Even when his creatures reached the ends of their natural lives or were killed, he could always find solace in saving another, and another after that.

He held onto the thoughts of what would happen to his friends and creatures should he allow himself to fall, and _that_ was what stopped himself from doing so. His fingers clutching desperately at the quickly eroding rock-face that was his sanity but managing _somehow_ to find some semblance of purchase.

 _He held on._

 **A/N – I'm so sorry for the huge delay guys! Life got in the way of writing due to a potent combination of crappy internet connections, coursework deadlines, family dramas and travel and hospital trips. I feel bad for this update too, so…. Double sorry? Thank you especially to SomeRandomHuman and Anthony William for the enthusiasm. And to Idkanymore – there will be some Percival POV before the end.**


	21. Chapter 21

" **He stands alone in hollow gloom, with the sound of his own breath whispering down unseen passages ahead and behind and to both sides, wondering how he stumbled into this blackest of all labyrinths. He entered by choice. We all do. Whether we are mapping the heavens or skulking the lanes of the underworld, whether we are hunting the imprisoned fiend or have ourselves become the monster, whether we are searching for what is lost or hiding what must never be found, we all round that first corner by choice - and by then, we are lost. You too. You must decide what is false and what is true, and what is true for me but not for you. We are wandering the mazes, all of us, and we cannot hope to escape until we learn to tell between what is real and what is real for someone else. There lies the madness, and the truth as well." - Troy Denning, Pages of Pain (On the original character of Theseus)**

They spent the night in Dumbledore's house. The wizard had invited them to spend the remaining few hours before morning in his guest bedrooms and to make themselves comfortable, before leaving the room. Tina and Queenie had retired to share one of the rooms, closing the door softly behind them. Theseus pretended not to hear the sounds of raised voices and sobbing coming from the room later on; they both did. He and Graves sat at the table by the fire in the living room of Dumbledore's home, not speaking and not really looking at one another.

They been sent a Phoenix-form Patronus that had reached them at the British Ministry of Magic – having returned there after Dumbledore had requested some time to prepare himself before they faced Grindelwald. Graves and Theseus had begrudgingly agreed; mostly because they also knew that they should report back to reorganise the remnants of the Aurors and establish what had happened with their pursuit of the Obscurial. As it turned out, the boy had not reverted to his destructive form and had instead fled on foot, apparently accompanied by a young woman - who the circus owner had claimed was a Maledictus. The Aurors had lost them on the streets of Paris amongst all the chaos and fighting that had still been going on.

While both the heads of Magical Law Enforcement had been concerned and aggravated to hear of the boy's continued escape from them, Theseus was also somewhat relieved. It gave them time to take down Grindelwald whilst he was still distracted with his upcoming duel with Dumbledore… and fixated upon torturing Theseus' little brother. It was a horrible thought that Newt's suffering could be in any way beneficial to the larger wizarding world, but Theseus could still see that from a tactical standpoint, it was perhaps best that the Obscurial remained unfound for now.

The message had informed them of Queenie's location and invited them to join her and Dumbledore at his home in Sheffield, after some deliberation, they had apparated to the named street – checking for traps and wards as they went. Tina had been distraught with worry for her sister and had insisted that they take the risk of following the Patronus' invitation and, knowing Dumbledore's flair for the dramatic as he did – Theseus had agreed. Dumbledore's house had been quite predictably heavily warded, but the Fidelius Charm had been overridden by note the Patronus had delivered – both he and Graves had trusted in the reliability of such precautions and entered the house on Dumbledore's invitation.

As Dumbledore had left the room, a bottle of Fire-whiskey and a bowl of apples had floated onto the table in front of the two men and without uttering a word, both had poured themselves a healthy measure of the burning liquid. As they drank, Graves seemed to become increasingly detached from the outside world, staring deeply into the flames that roared in the hearth – dark circles under his eyes that spoke of sleepless nights, but a firm set to his shoulders telling that he was not intending to give into his exhaustion now. Theseus knew that feeling well. He had snatched barely a few hours of sleep over the past four days, and his nerves drove him awake long before he achieved any actual rest. He wasn't going to make the mistake of trying now – not with Grindelwald's deadline drawing so close.

His despondent, anxious, furious thoughts were consuming each other within his exhausted mind – familiar concerns wearing much-trodden paths into the fabric of his brain. He was keeping himself going with the help of long years of Auror and military experience alongside the aid of pep-up potions and the Fire-whiskey. It wasn't doing his body much good, but the familiar burn of the alcohol was helping to dull his mind's swirling just a little. Knowing that his body needed some form of sustenance, Theseus retrieved an apple from the bowl, some distracted part of him remembering the apple tree that had resided near their family home. He had once broken his wrist climbing up to retrieve a young Newt from where he had been hiding at the tree's uppermost branches. Father had been in one of his frequent rages and Theseus had known that Newt would always try to find his creature friends when upset. He had tried to climb up to his brother but had grabbed for what he had thought to be a branch which was in fact a Bowtruckle and had promptly been shouted at by Newt. In his surprise, he had lost his grip and fallen, breaking his wrist in the process.

Newt had looked so utterly frightened as he scrambled down the tree after him, scraping up his hands and clothes something rotten in the process, but he had instantly begun stumbling out apologies, interspersed with half-coherent explanations about Theseus disturbing a creature habitat. As Theseus bit into the apple, he couldn't help a fond half-smile grace his lips as he remembered his ridiculous little brother's bumbling attempts to fix up Theseus' wrist before their parents could see – neither of them being able to use a wand yet, they had instead torn up a spare tea towel and bound it.

It was moments like that that reminded Theseus both of how caring and vulnerable Newt was, but also of his unswerving capacity to always try to protect everyone and everything that he could. He had protected a magical creature from being crushed and inadvertently harmed his brother by doing so – instantly attempting to rectify his mistake and incurring their father's wrath at the ruined towels and Theseus' injury. He had found out and punished Newt for it. He had always found out.

The memory felt like a bitter bile in his throat as he thought of just why Newt was now in danger – he had been trying to help others. He had been trying to help Dumbledore, to help his creatures, to help Credence, and in doing so, had attracted the malevolent attention of the darkest wizard of their time. Theseus understood better than most, the desire to help others – it was why he had become an Auror in the first place; to help people who had suffered at the hands of evil. But Newt took that need to another level – placing himself in great danger and blaming himself for every single harm that came to anyone else, even if it was out of his control.

After the war, he had seen Newt try to distance himself from others to protect himself and them, but his kind heart always led him straight back into the line of fire again and again. He wasn't one to just stand by and let others suffer – creature or otherwise. Newt just attracted trouble from all sides – his innocent yet defiant aura drawing in all the wrong kinds of attention. It wasn't as if Newt was not a capable wizard in his own right – he was – but he was also disproportionality empathetic, which left him vulnerable. Even those who tried to hurt him, even those who were irredeemable – his little brother would see the good in them… even if there were none to be found. Newt had never met a monster that he couldn't love.

An almost unheard grunt broke Theseus from his reveries and he looked up in surprise to see that Graves had drifted off to sleep in a slumped position, the man's sleeping face was creased in distress. His breathing was coming out in short, harsh pants through his teeth and he was twitching slightly, fingers digging into the wood of the chair's armrests – flexing and tensing in a seemingly reflexive pattern. It seemed that the other man was suffering from nightmares.

Unsure of what to do about the sudden display of vulnerability from his fellow Head-Auror, Theseus straightened in his chair, absently tossing the apple core into the fire as he did so. Unfortunately, the resulting loud spit and crackle that the fire gave as the apple juice leaked into it, caused Graves to wake abruptly. He jolted up in his chair, hand outstretched towards the perceived threat before his eyes were even properly open. Theseus found himself momentarily pinned back harshly to the chair in which he sat by an impressive display of wandless magic from Graves.

"Graves? Get a hold of yourself man. You're in no danger." Theseus spoke evenly, his voice firm, but not challenging. Graves blinked a few times before he seemed to properly focus on his surroundings, releasing Theseus with a wave of his hand. Huffing out an affronted breath, Theseus straightened his slightly rumpled waistcoat and fixed Graves with a calculating look – waiting for any further signs of instability or hostility. He couldn't see anything other than an inescapable weariness in the other's dark gaze as it refocussed upon the fire in the grate – watching the remnants of the apple burn away to nothing.

"I… apologise, Auror Scamander." Graves' voice was rough, and he did not look at Theseus – instead pouring himself another glass of Fire-Whiskey and throwing it back with barely a shudder.

"Wasn't it you who just recently told me to keep control of my emotions?" Theseus asked, quirking an eyebrow at Graves. "I'm no expert in such things, but I think you may be refusing to deal with some unresolved issues of your own."

Graves shot him a glare that could have speared through Dragonhide, but Theseus simply poured out another measure of Fire-Whiskey and slid it across the table with two fingers to the other Auror. They both downed another numbing drink. Theseus gritted his teeth for several seconds before unclenching his jaw and addressing a topic that he would have much rather avoided, but he needed to know that he could count on Graves in the upcoming battle. Any slip ups or moments of weakness - of indecision around Grindelwald could be the difference between success and defeat. Between life and death. Between losing Newt or not.

"Look, I usually try not to involve myself in the personal lives of my international colleagues, but I need to make sure that I can rely upon you when it comes to helping Newt. If there are any… tensions that you still have with Grindelwald, that might prevent you from being your best, I'd like to know about them now. I can't risk Newt's safety for the sake of your personal grudge against him."

Graves' left eye twitched slightly as he finally lifted his gaze from the fire to meet Theseus' with a steel that surprised him – it wasn't the firmness of the gaze, no, that was expected – it was the genuine remorse that laid there. What would he feel the need to be regretful for?

"My personal experiences are not the only reason I seek retribution on Grindelwald, Scamander. This is not merely a matter of duty for me either… I owe your brother my life, but that is not why I wish to assist you. Newt has come to be a… close friend and I do not wish to see him suffer at the hands of a man I know holds no mercy for those he captures. I will do everything within my power to ensure that Newt returns home safely."

Theseus was shocked to hear the genuine sounding words coming from the notoriously imperturbable Director – a man so stern that no one noticed a difference when a sociopathic, fascist aspiring-dictator had replaced him. It was somewhat bizarre to hear him speak of Newt in such a… warm manner. His voice was uncharacteristically full of emotion as he said Newt's name and referred to him as a 'close friend' – true empathy fluctuating in his tone when he spoke of suffering. Against his better instincts, Theseus was tempted to inquire as to what Grindelwald had done to the man so that he would feel such concern for Newt now, but he didn't. He would leave such invasive questions for people much closer to Graves than he was… which apparently included his oddball little brother. Merlin's beard, this was all rather peculiar.

"Dare I ask what it was about my little brother that would merit such… protective behaviour from you, Director Graves?" He phrased it as stiffly and formally as he could – trying to remain as un-invasive as possible whilst still satisfying his curiosity.

To his further bemusement, Graves let out a short huff of amused breath, eyes meeting Theseus' again with some odd humour in them, bright also with the effects of the Fire-Whiskey. "I'm sure you're aware that your brother is quite a… unique individual, Scamander."

Theseus couldn't help but huff out his own laugh at what was likely the biggest understatement since the nations of Europe had declared there would be no risk of war. "You aren't wrong there, Graves, I'll give you that."

They were silent for some time, pouring each other drinks and staring into the fire – seemingly lost in their own musings before Graves surprised Theseus further by speaking again. By this point, both were slumped in their chairs, feeling the warming, numbing effects of the Ogden's finest quite strongly.

"At first… I was more curious how he saw through Grindelwald's illusion when my own colleagues and people I thought to be my friends… did not…" There was pain there too, before Graves continued, his voice increasingly hazy from the effects of the alcohol, eyes seeming to soften into a dreamlike state. "But I soon discovered how… _exceptional_ he was – beyond his affinity with creatures, he's a… surprisingly strong man for one so...sweet… pretty too."

Theseus' eyebrows were stuck somewhere near his hairline by this point. It was getting positively surreal to hear _Percival Graves_ of all people talk about his brother in such a way. It was even more strange to hear his own earlier thoughts reflected to him by another – albeit in a more… umm _fond_ sounding way. He could not deny the truth in the others assertations – except maybe the 'pretty' bit - but he wasn't entirely sure why another man was being quite so honest about his admiration of Newt. He had a sneaking suspicion that the alcohol likely had something to do with Graves' newfound verbosity and… sentimentality.

Feeling the need to venture his confusion and concern to the other man, Theseus cleared his throat slightly and Graves straightened a bit in his chair. Theseus fixed him with a hard glare, feeling his barely restrained cavalcade of simmering emotions beginning to bubble over with the, perhaps unwise, addition of alcohol. His hand coming to rest upon the wand holster at his hip. He would rather that his fellow Auror did not speak in such an… longing manner about his younger brother. Newt may be a grown man, but Theseus did not appreciate Graves bringing up such inappropriate feelings at a time like this.

He wasn't going to let the _much older_ man – an American official no less – attempt to gain his approval to further alienate Newt from the rest of society with his… choice in lifestyle. He had heard that Graves was exceptionally private about his personal life, and up until this point, Theseus had assumed that it was merely healthy paranoia as a Director of Magical Law Enforcement. But hearing the way he was talking about Newt… it gave him the distinct impression that other man may have more specific reasons for wanting to keep his private life exactly that – _private_.

Theseus had nothing wrong with such matters himself, but he was well aware of how most in society viewed them. Newt could risk losing his job, his book deal, he could become even more of a social pariah than he already was. He could even risk issues in the Muggle world should anyone find out – chemical castration or arrest was a true danger even for a wizard. It could require a great deal of trouble, obliviating and unneeded stress on the Muggle-wizard relationship to cover up. Newt was inexperienced in terms of romantic partners – only ever seeming to show interest in Leta - and Theseus was not going to let Graves drag his little brother into a world of even more complex dangers than he was already in. There were already rumours circulating about Newt due to his… association with Dumbledore, but Theseus had done his best over the years to discourage them by putting Newt's noticeable lack of interest in women down to being hung up over Leta. It was likely that Newt didn't even like men, but Theseus was worried that his inexperience and need for affection might surprise him into accepting Graves' advances, should he attempt them…. Or had he already?

Graves was likely well-meaning - from the way he spoke of the magizoologist - but Theseus would rather that Newt did not have to face the concerns of navigating such a difficult series of landmines when he was already facing so much. Theseus was well prepared to deliver a particularly emphatic rant on the subject when he heard a smooth, weary sounding voice cut through the tense silence.

"Mr Graves, while I am sure that your honesty in well meaning, I don't believe that now is the time to be confessing your affection of Newt Scamander to his elder brother." They both started slightly out of their drink-induced haze and turned to see Dumbledore standing in the doorway – now fully dressed. There was an odd blend of light humour and seriousness in his blue eyes as he regarded the pair. "I would rather that you did not start a fight whilst intoxicated in my home, if you wouldn't mind."

The now apparently empty bottle of Fire-Whiskey floated off the table and back over to a nearby cabinet with a flick of Dumbledore's hand. He sat himself in a chair across the other side of the round table a regarded Theseus and Graves with calm patience, though his blue eyes were looking about as drained as they both were. Theseus nodded mutely, though eying Graves with suspicion for a few moments longer – noting the man's unfocussed gaze still residing on the fire. He likely wasn't much aware of what he had just admitted to by the looks of it – they had gotten through the strong drink faster than Theseus had realised.

He felt stabs of shame in his chest as he comprehended that he had drunken himself into an unreasonable state while his little brother was still in very real danger. It had just felt good to not be consumed by constant fear and anger for a little while, to be able to relax somewhat for just a bit. But with the presence of Newt's former teacher, he found himself sobering up a bit. Theseus had always had an inherent need to impress figures of authority – born of a strict father and the happiness he found in his academic success at Hogwarts. He found himself straightening further in his chair and brushing his horrendous leather clothing with his wand – transforming it self-consciously back into his usual grey suited attire.

Feeling a little more like himself, he turned his attention back to Dumbledore, who offered him a very slight smile.

"Sorry for finishing off your Fire-Whiskey supply." Theseus offered, not entirely sure of what to say in the situation. It felt like they were all in some sort of horribly still limbo – floating in the mid-space between one horror and the next. Like what they were doing was just a time filler until - what would hopefully be the final confrontation - occurred. **(Oh, how right he is)**

"Its probably been put to better use – Mr Graves looked like he needed some help finding a little rest." Dumbledore said, nodding towards the chair in which Graves was again slumped in sleep – brow creased once more, but lying still and quiet. It seemed that the drink had helped with the nightmares at least, even if it had made the wizard's mouth run more than he had perhaps intended.

"I do not usually attempt to insert myself into the personal lives of others beyond necessity, but I feel as though I should make matters easier for Newt wherever I can, by advising that you not bring up what Mr Graves has said, to him." Dumbledore's expression was solemn and… somewhat disturbed as he continued. "I believe that Newt may be in a… vulnerable state – more vulnerable than may be at first evident and what he will need above all else, is the support of those he cares about." Those bright blue eyes fixed upon Theseus in such a way that he began to feel slightly uncomfortable. "Even if the people he considers closest are ones that you may not approve of."

There was a part of Theseus that was fuming at being given advice on how to look after his own little brother from someone who had allowed Newt to be captured and tortured at the hands of his ex-lover. Someone who had practically lined Newt up to be a human sacrifice… but he also understood what the older wizard was getting at – he knew that he shouldn't let his personal qualms get in the way of Newt's recovery and he wasn't going to argue. He knew that Dumbledore was right, even if he still intended to bring up the obvious issues at some point – Theseus would do it at a more appropriate time. For now, there were much more pressing issues to be dealt with.

"What will be our tactic for engaging Grindelwald? What do you intend to do about the blood-bond?" Theseus voiced the questions that had been plaguing his mind since visiting Hogwarts – he had been waiting for the man to venture an answer on his own time, but now had grown impatient.

"We shall use the two-way portkey that Miss Goldstein was supplied with – as Gellert no doubt intended we do – and I shall attempt to reason with him." Dumbledore's voice was forcibly calm even as Theseus felt incredulity flow through him.

"I think that the time where this madman could be talked down if long past! Even with your sentiment blinding you, surely you can see that!"

Dumbledore inclined his head towards Theseus' irate expression, raising a hand to brush across his mouth in a brusque movement. "I am left with little option other than to first attempt peaceful negotiation, the breakage of the blood-bond is not worth sacrificing Newt in the attempt to rescue him. Should any of you see an opportunity to disarm or incapacitate Gellert, then do so."

"You're damn right we will." Theseus replied acerbically, levelling a heavy stare at the other man as he did so. "I have no reservations about putting Grindelwald down when the opportunity comes and not only because of what he has done to Newt, or Graves or anyone else – it is because the world would be better off without someone like him in it. As much as would like to hold faith with the Ministry on the matter – I don't believe that there is any prison or captor that we could force upon him that he wouldn't be able to wriggle his way out of, like the snake he is."

He could see that Dumbledore knew he was right – but there was still that lingering spark of something, that familiar little flame of hope for better from someone who was not capable of it. Theseus knew it well. But he would not let it be the end of his little brother. "If you can provide enough of a distraction for Graves, Tina and myself, then we may have the chance to end this now."

Dumbledore's expression was unfathomable. Theseus stood, pushing his chair back firmly and moving to stand in the growing patch of early morning light by the window, looking out at the snow-covered streets and rooftops that disappeared into the hills beyond. "If you have any better ideas, now would be the time to voice them."

He heard Dumbledore sigh. "I may have, but it will not be a simple accomplishment by any means and it will require both your and Newt's assistance… it will be dangerous and holds a high risk of killing you both."

Theseus turned back to face Dumbledore, who had too stood from his seat, hands in his trousers pockets as he leant wearily on the table. "What do you mean?"

"There may be a way of removing the blood-bond from myself and Gellert - transferring it into Newt, but without having to kill him to destroy it."

"Why must Newt be the one to bear it? Couldn't someone else do it?" Theseus asked, desperation lacing his tone. Dumbledore looked pained as he answered, avoiding Theseus' gaze.

"It would have been possible for another to do so, but I fear that Gellert has set his sights upon Newt as being the bearer due to a mistake on his part about the nature of our…relationship. The bearer must hold a connection to both participants of the pact as well as a strong will… there are drastically few individuals who could fit into that category."

Theseus relented to the man's more in-depth knowledge of such things – even if he found himself hating the idea that his brother was classed as having a connection with the likes of Grindelwald. "Very well, what must we do?"

"It would require a large contribution of your blood and magic to help Newt stand a chance of surviving it. Are you sure you wish to take this risk?" His bright blue gaze bored into Theseus' own with apologetic, sincerely blunt honesty.

"For Newt, of course." Theseus spoke with equal honesty, jaw set.

"Then please awake Mr Graves and the Goldstein sisters, we must make them aware of our intentions." Dumbledore spoke in a business-like tone, but the set of his shoulders and the steel in his blue eyes told Theseus all he needed to know about the mindset of the other wizard. It was the set of a man who was preparing himself for atrocities unknown and was still holding onto the last remnant of hope that they could be avoided.

A/N - **I've done some calculating of ages for this chapter and just realised that in COG Dumbledore (and Grindelwald) is about 47 years old and Theseus is 39, so it was unlikely that Dumbledore would have taught at Hogwarts when Theseus was there in around 1900 as Dumbledore would have been 19 when Theseus first attended. Newt is 30 in COG and so is 9 years younger than Theseus. It was all a bit odd to figure out that ages were closer than I originally thought.**

 **Callum Tuner (Theseus) is 28 years old and Eddie Redmayne is 37, so I don't know what happened there with casting lol – although I'm very glad it worked out how it did as I love Callum's version of Theseus and obviously Eddie is a perfect Newt, but the ages seem a bit off. At least Jude Law is pretty much the same age as his character and Johnny Depp looks about the right age too – even if he is 55.**

 **Merlin's beard that went on a bit… sorry?**


	22. Chapter 22

**"Take my eyes and I will not be blinded, take my tongue and I won't be silenced, take my ears and will still hear your lies. Break these hollow bones and I will still fly. But take my heart and crush it in your heavy hand and it will surely bring about your end, Undying in your cold embrace tonight, tomorrow and forever. These hollow hearts will break, as empty as they are. Will shatter in the dark and those cold shards shall call about that dark. For neither ever, nor never." - 'These hollow bones' - extract from The Metal Finch**

" **So I'll try not to breathe as I hold my head still, the light bends on my face, there'd be tears if I cried and I'll try not to think what the happy things were, I'll just think of the stuff that just made me shit scared, and I'll just close my eyes and I'll see everyone, that I'm leaving behind for the dawn of the sun and I'll try not to feel, yes I'll try not to feel and I'll try not to feel all the way down..." – 'All the way down' – Biffy Clyro**

 **Also, not to overdo it on the musical/literary references, but 'Ich Will' by Rammstein really kind of sums up Grindelwald's character as a leader for me – I'd definitely say its worth a listen (There are translations readily available for the non-German speakers)**

Newt did not fight as his bonds were broken, he did not bother to resist the magic that levitated his body - rigid and completely unable to move - from the bed and along the hall behind him. Grindelwald was calm in his wand motions and his stride was smooth, but even from his frozen position, Newt could see the gleam in the dark wizard's eyes that betrayed the barely contained anticipation he was experiencing. It wasn't quite excitement, there were still too many features of his customary superior, cool demeanour to be that… it was an eagerness that was laced with genuine uncertainty. Whatever Grindelwald exactly had planned for his confrontation with Dumbledore, he seemed to be equal parts anxious and keen for.

It was odd seeing those traces of human emotion in Grindelwald – since the rally, those attempts to show Newt any of his own vulnerability had become increasingly rare. Unless of course you included sadistic lust and blatant manipulation as open emotion. The only lingering effects of what had just transpired visible on the other wizard was a slight flush in his cheeks – the bruises around his dulled silver eye already magicked away. Newt, however, was bruised, bleeding and broken – on the inside and out.

Grindelwald moved through the seemingly endlessly twisting corridors of the castle with practiced ease – his wandless magic floating Newt along behind him with his bare feet hanging several inches above the ground. Both of Newt's disfigured hung uselessly, the right set stiffly in the wrong position, split skin swollen over the malformed kneecap. The left was infused with hot agony along the vertical line of splintered bone in his shin, but at least the forced paralysis prevented any further aggravation of the injury… for now at least. Newt had no doubt that the relatively merciful treatment wouldn't last for very long however, he was likely in for a lot more pain before this was over. He only hoped that his long history with suffering would allow him to fight through the oncoming agony so could still be of some use in the upcoming battle. It was all he could do. One last little good thing to help outweigh all the bad. He could manage that…couldn't he?

The elder wizard did not speak as they moved, and Newt would not have attempted any words, even had he been able to move his lips. He was focussing all his shattered attention upon what was about to happen, on staying aware enough so that he could take any advantage he could. _You have been helpless long enough._ There was that murmuring voice again.

Quiet, not now. He told it firmly – he still wasn't sure where this voice was coming from, whether it was yet another trick of Grindelwald – getting in his head again, a weird sort of coping mechanism, or just that he had gone plain old Dungbomb crazy. Whatever the case may be, he didn't want to encourage whatever it was by listening to it… even if it was apparently trying to be supportive. _A voice in your head is a voice in your head no matter what label you slap onto it, you know._ Newt wasn't sure about that, but he did _know_ was that he needed to focus.

Newt pulled himself away from the depths of his own mind and instead took in the room he was now in. It was a great, open hall – large, arched windows set into the stonework at the opposite end and a rich looking red runner spread out across the open floor. They had entered through a wooden side door, another mirroring it across the hall and a large open arch standing opposite the windows, which led to a main entrance if the ornate wooden doors were any indication. It was not entirely unlike some of the larger classrooms in Hogwarts, though the expensive looking fabric that covered the floor and the baroque bronze castings that adorned the torch brackets were decidedly of better make than anything in the school. Newt wondered idly, if it was incidental that the room resembled his school or not – an effort to make Dumbledore feel more at home perhaps? Or just a coincidence?

The view out of the windows, however, was undoubtedly not familiar – snow-capped peaks of jagged black rock and an incredibly sharp looking drop from directly outside the windows told Newt enough to know that. Having heard Grindelwald mention the name 'Nurmengard', he could guess that they were likely somewhere in Eastern Europe – perhaps in the Bavarian mountains, if the sheer expanse of cliffs were anything to go by. Newt had travelled enough in his work as a Magizoologist and as part of his effort in the Great War to have a good enough idea about these things to be able to cast a general area of where he was. Though the information now seemed pretty superfluous, he couldn't help but admire the breath-taking view for a few moments before he was suddenly allowed to drop to the ground. Having expected the rough treatment for what felt like the hundredth time around, Newt managed to twist so that he could let his hip and arms take the brunt of the fall, but he couldn't contain a grunt as his legs still flared in agony at the impact.

He shakily pushed himself up as much as he could to lean on one forearm, sprawled out, but propped up on it enough so that he wasn't completely collapsed at Grindelwald's feet. He gritted his teeth his body flared with familiar aches and complaints at the continued movement, but he ignored it as best he could – raising his gaze up to fix somewhere upon Grindelwald's left shoulder. Eyes were beyond him at the moment. He didn't want to risk seeing that face morphing again, to see the satisfaction that the man was drawing from his suffering, forced upon the faces of the people he cared about. Just thinking of the events of not minutes ago was enough to make Newt shudder, but he pushed past it as best he could. _You can do this. Just a little longer._

"Now, Newt, we still have a moment or two before Albus joins us…" Grindelwald spoke, one hand coming up to stroke his chin in a faux thoughtful gesture, his left hand holding the Elder Wand lightly at his side. The early morning sunlight that was glimmering through the windows played upon the bleached, knobbly wood in an odd way – almost as if it held it's own form of subtle luminescence. He could feel Grindelwald's amused gaze on him even if he still refused to meet those mismatched eyes. "I don't believe that you are quite ready to receive our guests just yet, Liebling, no, there's something missing…"

"I don't s-suppose you'd think it was my c-clothes w-would you?" Newt asked, shuddering out a breathy sound that was barely a laugh and twitching his lips up into something that was more of a strained grimace. His throat felt raw from the earlier attempts to half-strangle him and every word he got out was grating on his vocal chords something awful.

He heard Grindelwald let out a huffing laugh of his own before he reached down to grab Newt's supporting arm, yanking it out from under him and pulling him to kneel brokenly before him. Newt flinched as he flicked the Elder Wand at his left arm in a swirling pattern. At first, all of Newt's skin was suffused with an oddly warm sensation that made him relax slightly, the shivers subsiding for a moment before livid agony flared across his trapped arm like wildfire. A shrill, voice cracking scream tore itself from his chest and left his lips before he could even realise what the spell was doing. It was different from the Cruciatus and the magical lightening – the agony never went deeper than uppermost layers of skin, but stuck to the pain receptors in those layers like a Grindylow latches onto its prey. Relentless and insidiously superficial but horrible, nonetheless.

The pain may not have gone deeper than his skin, but he could feel the magic leaking into his bloodstream – dark and cold and itching like ants running through his hand to the top of his arm and back down again. The sensations were isolated only to the arm and hand that Grindelwald was still clutching, but it didn't stop the pain in his skin being any less intense, or the itching magic being any less unsettling,

It lasted for maybe a minute before subsiding to a muted prickling sensation, his skin felt damp and at first Newt thought it was from sweat, but when he looked down at himself, he saw that his left side was covered in an almost unbroken coating of blood. The odd thing was that there didn't seem to be any source of gore, it was like the skin had been stained red by the precious liquid that had risen _though_ his skin with no apparent exit wound. The flesh was glistening and dripping blood onto the dark flagstone underneath, which seemed to eagerly drink up the substance – the pain was gone, but the itching in his veins remained. He looked up to meet Grindelwald's gaze now, confused and shaking. _What the hell had that been?_

He was going to voice his confusion, but he was interrupted as Grindelwald straightened abruptly, releasing Newt's hand and letting him fall forwards. He barely caught himself with both hands, the left shooting stinging vibrations – like particularly intense pins and needles – through his body as he resumed his previous position. Keeping weight off his injured legs whilst cradling the bloody arm to his bare chest, feeling the warmth sliding down his abdomen and pooling onto the dark stone beneath him.

"Nice of you to join us Albus." Newt's head jerked up and he painstakingly, awkwardly shifted his one good arm so that he could turn enough to see Dumbledore where he stood in the arched hall entrance. He was dressed in one of his familiar grey three-piece suits underneath a midnight blue cloak, his wand was not drawn but Newt wasn't particularly surprised. It wasn't like either of them could harm the other whilst the blood-pact remained intact, and besides, Albus had always used combat as a last resort in Newt's experience. He could command far more with words than he could with violence.

The look on Dumbledore's face, however, was one that Newt had not seen before – his brows were furrowed, bright blue eyes unfathomable and bearded jaw set in a hard line. His shoulders were firm, but not tensed – not quite confident, but not timid either. Newt had always seen him as a man that held great wisdom but also a wry humour and, after discovering more about his past, the young Magizoologist had seen that his compassion was not born of an easy life – but of a valiant, constant fight to _be better_. His fight was only getting that much harder in the face of meeting the man who had very nearly tempted him down a much darker path, the man who had taunted him ever since for his resistance by making others suffer.

But now, Albus appeared to be a man set - resigned to his own resistance. It was contrastingly both heartening and crushing to see.

Newt's eyes widened slightly in concern as Dumbledore was followed into the room by Theseus, Tina and Percival. It seemed that Queenie was absent, but Newt was glad that at least one of his friends might escape whatever was about to happen – looking at Tina, he guessed that she had persuaded Queenie to stay behind. Though how she would have done that, Newt would never know. _Maybe Queenie had never even reached safety – Grindelwald could have just as easily have been lying to you, you know._ The utterance set another pit of anxiety gnawing deeper into the chasm in his chest. They all looked so solemn that Newt wasn't sure what to believe.

Despite himself, Newt felt a small thrill of joy at seeing his friends and his brother again. Percival looked worryingly like the illusion that Grindelwald had taken earlier – weary and rumpled, but his brown eyes were different. They were angry and focussed as he observed Grindelwald, but when his gaze dropped down to meet Newt's, the concern and crackling warmth in them was enough to make Newt flush slightly and quickly avert his eyes.

Theseus was slightly easier to look at due to the familial bond, but the rage that was coiling in every visible fibre of his brother was enough to make Newt feel worse all over again. There was something glimmering in Theseus' blue eyes that told him he was going to do something very stupid soon. _And here I though the acts of stupid, reckless bravery were your area._ Shut up.

Tina's expression was hard, though he could see redness around her eyes that indicated that she had shed a lot of tears as of late. _Grieving for her sister?_ He silenced the voice again, growing rather irritated by the incessant commentary of things that he would rather not focus upon right now. Focus, he had to focus on helping to get them out of here in as best a shape he could.

Grindelwald was standing to Newt's right side now, the elder wizard's wand lightly twirled in between his fingers. Though his back was to him, the magizoologist could see that he was entirely focussed upon Albus standing in front of him. "I must say that I am glad your interest in our dear Newt extended this far… I will admit that I had my doubts." He sidled slightly towards Newt as he spoke, his gaze shrewd as he reached down to run his hand through Newt's messy copper hair. He shuddered, flinching as the fingers combed through the unruly strands, nails scraping light along his scalp and one long thumb stroking softly along his temple in an intimate gesture.

Newt attempted to pull away from the touch, but a flick of Grindelwald's wand hand and a jet of white light had him frozen in place, still able to breathe and blink, but forced to stay in the hold. In front of Dumbledore. In front of Percival, Tina and Theseus. He suddenly felt incredibly aware of his stripped state – shuddering harder and flushing pink in humiliation as he bore the treatment. "But I have begun to see the merits of keeping Mr Scamander around, just as I'm sure you yourself have."

Dumbledore's face twitched slightly and the furrow between his bows deepened infinitesimally, his voice was stilting and pained when it left his throat. "I may have been blind to your true nature once Gellert, but I had not thought you had changed so drastically that you would stoop to…. _this_."

"We've both made changes Albus. For instance, that rather unfortunate beard of yours - I must say that it ages you terribly." Grindelwald's tone was light and mocking but twisting his head up slightly to look at the man, he could see that there was a familiar dangerous glint in his eyes. Something more than the cold fury Newt had seen before – it was true vulnerability barely masked beneath the snide maliciousness.

As much as Newt found it much easier to paint Grindelwald as a machine, incapable of empathy – he couldn't deny the glimmers of affection and pain. They swirled above and underneath the madness and anger, but they were undeniably still there. As much as Grindelwald wanted to make Dumbledore suffer, it wasn't just for his abandonment of their once shared ideals – it was for what had been lost between them. He was putting up a good show of the powerful dark lord, but there was still that vulnerability lying just beneath.

Dumbledore could clearly see it too – the pain shimmering in his bright eyes told Newt that very plainly. He wasn't looking at Newt – focussing upon Grindelwald with captivated reminiscence and something close to horror. Newt felt pity stir in him as he thought of what this must be doing to his friend and mentor; being faced with a twisted, darkened, fetid version of what he had once loved.

Albus did not react to Grindelwald's petty and quite unfair jab – he merely continued to regard him with that same look of resigned defiance as before. Theseus and Percival however looked positively murderous as both seemed to fixate upon the hand Grindelwald was still using to caress the paralysed Newt. Both were clutching their wands in tight, unforgiving grips that left their knuckles white and he could have sworn that Percival's hand was shaking ever so slightly. Percival took a step forward, a barely repressed growl leaving the Auror's throat as he fixed his formidable glare on the dark wizard. Grindelwald seemed to become amused by this addressed him in the same light tone, though it was now laced with more malicious intent than emotion now. "Percival, feeling a little jealous, are we?"

Percival's face twitched slightly as Grindelwald's stroking hand suddenly fisted Newt's hair and pulled his face up harshly so that it rested on the elder wizard's thigh, exposing the vibrant hand shaped bruising around his throat. His breath hitched, but unable to do anything about it in his immobile state, he contained his protest and pain by gritting his teeth harder together. It was just Grindelwald's pathetic attempts to humiliate him further, trying to anger one of his friends into making a stupid mistake. He was obviously trying to goad them into making the first move – to make them do something reckless.

"Gellert." The utterance of his name from Dumbledore was enough to pull Grindelwald's full attention back to him. The smirk not leaving his lips. "I believe that you summoned me here for more than to act as a witness whilst you taunt Mr Scamander and his friends."

"Quite right, Albus." He replied, suddenly adopting a crisp, business-like manner, releasing Newt's head and stepping around him as he crumpled to the ground. Unable to support himself or prevent his fall in his immobile state, Newt collided hard with the stone floor, teeth clacking together uncomfortably and fresh pain flaring across old wounds all over his body. He contained his outcry to a grunt, but he still heard sharp intakes of fuming breath and low growls from across the room.

"There's the matter of the bond which requires due discussion, but I don't believe that all of you need to be present for this." Panic flared within Newt at the words, wide eyes following Grindelwald as he stepped further forward, partially blocking his view of his brother and friends. _He's going to hurt them, Newt, you know he will. He still wants you for something, but your friends are expendable to him to an easy way to hurt you._ Shut up now.

"If you wouldn't mind, Albus and I have some catching up to do." Grindelwald's tone was still deceptively light, but his grip had tightened ever so slightly around the Elder Wand – then grip now readied for combat.

"I don't think so." Theseus said the words through gritted teeth as he and Percival stepped forward almost as one so that they were now on level with Dumbledore, who's expression was unfathomable.

From the edge of his vision, Newt could see Tina skirting around the back of the room, edging slowly, subtlety forward, the tip of her wand glowing with a disillusionment charm. The only reason he noticed her was because she was staying along the very edge of his visual field – the disillusioned air around her shimmering ever so slightly in a way that was very familiar to the young Magizoologist. Having placed the charm on himself and numerous creatures in the past, he was particularly apt at recognising when one was being used. He wasn't sure whether Tina was trying to get to him or perhaps close enough to Grindelwald to surprise attack him, but he fixed his gaze on her - trying to warn her without words or movement to not get any closer. It wasn't worth the risk. She seemed to ignore him, gaze fixed upon Grindelwald instead.

Seemingly oblivious, Grindelwald sighed out a humourless laugh as the two head Aurors moved further forward, now standing in front in Dumbledore. The positioning didn't appear to be an attempt at protection on their Aurors' part – merely an incidental result of advancing upon the dark wizard. Obviously still trapped by the limitations of the blood-pact, Albus was standing exactly where he was, watching Grindelwald with that unreadable expression still fixed on his lined face.

"Auror Scamander, was I mistaken in my assumption that you were capable enough to follow the orders of your superiors?" His tone was full of cold humour and held a hard, commanding edge to it.

Theseus' glare intensified, and Newt couldn't help but wince at the familiar wording. The formal address aside - it sounded alarmingly similar to something their father used to say whenever Theseus had failed to keep Newt in line. _Probably plucked that right out of your head didn't he, Newt? Your weak little mind couldn't keep him out enough to protect you_ or _your brother._ Quiet, stop it.

"When in the presence of homicidal, sadistic megalomaniacs, I don't usually consider them to be _anyone's_ better." Graves cut into the exchange, surprising both Newt and Theseus at the venom in his voice. "Let alone compared to a Scamander."

Newt felt a flush rise in his burnt cheeks as Theseus glanced rather confusedly between him and Graves before turning his fury back to Grindelwald. "Nice to see that you've finally decided to pick up a pet, Percy, being someone who has lived your life for quite some time, I'm glad that you finally took your head out of your work long enough to appreciate something at _fine_ as little Newt here." He offered the clearly fuming man a salacious, vile smile as his gaze flicked momentarily back to where Newt was still lying immobile on his side. "Though I'm afraid that you might have a little trouble getting near enough to _stick_ him, little fighter that he is."

The answering dual flurry of hexes that were sent Grindelwald's way seemed to only amuse the wizard further, deflecting the barrage of multicoloured lights with a few flicks of the Elder Wand. Both Theseus and Percival worked in tandem, attacking, shielding and deflecting spells with surprising efficiency considering they barely knew each other. The practiced ease of the elite Auror was visible in both of their movements, but from the rather intense wand technique Percival was employing, Newt could tell that what was fuelling the duel was more than an Auror's duty – it was righteous rage. And it was rather terrifying to see.

With Grindelwald temporarily distracted, Newt redirected his wavering, mortified attention back to the disillusioned Tina as she grew level with him. He could only just see her now as she moved on the edges of his limited field of vision, he widened his eyes at her as much as he could – _finally_ catching her attention, willing her as much as he was able to just get the hell away from here. To his surprise and confusion, Tina shot him a small smirk and he saw a further shimmering distortion of air as she seemed to reach into her coat. A few moments later Newt felt something nudging softly but insistently against his bare foot, a warm, furry weight moving along his leg until a familiar black Niffler crawled into his sight.

He could have shouted in joy at seeing the furry little thief had he been able to move at all, but as it was, he merely sent the creature a fond look – smiling as best he could with his eyes alone. He never thought he would be so pleased to see the pilfering little bugger in his entire life.

What was truly brilliant however, was the shiny, gold-capped wand handle that was poking out of the creature's pouch. Newt focussed his gaze on the unfamiliar wand, attempting to pull it towards his hand with wandless magic, the end twitched just a little, and Newt gritted his teeth so hard that he felt another crack slightly. He put all his magic into summoning the wand to his immobile hand and after several far too long seconds of straining, the wand flew away from the Niffler's pouch, shooting through his grabbing little paws and into Newt's hand. He felt an odd jolt as his magic attempted to connect to the unfamiliar wand – it took a few seconds more for it to acclimatize itself before he felt the flow begin.

" _Finite_ " he cast nonverbally, a flash of red light shooting from the end of the alien-feeling and frankly gaudy Ash wand and suddenly Newt could move again. Remaining still for a moment while he gathered himself, Newt glanced back over to the three-way duel that was still occurring mere feet from him. Grindelwald's back was to him and Theseus and Percival seemed far too preoccupied with the rather inventive spell work that Grindelwald was aiming at them to notice Newt's newfound freedom.

Percival was hurling a combination of rather nasty looking hexes, curses and spells at Grindelwald with violent, dramatic flicks of his wrist and wand. Or at least they looked nasty if the smoking holes in the surrounding floor, walls and the entirely melted wall sconce were anything to go by.

He knew that he wasn't going to be of much use from his position on the floor so directed the borrowed wand towards his more recently broken leg and muttered " _Ferula_ "

He bit back a cry as the bone in his shin reset and splinted itself, agony lancing though the limb at an alarming rate. Not wanting to waste any time or his opportunity to end the fight before someone got hurt, Newt used his good arm to push himself very unsteadily to his feet, leaning more heavily on his newly partially-healed limb – not trusting the disfigured kneecap of the other. _Lesser of two evils, eh? You always did know a lot about that._ Not helping, stop it.

Newt looked down to the Niffler and used a swish and flick of the new wand to send him flying back towards Tina, who caught him, the creature promptly wriggled out of her grip and ran off towards the nearest cast-bronze wall scone. Newt allowed a small smile to grace his lips as the Niffler began to pull at the decoration – clearly trying to pry the shiny metal from the wall. _At least some things never change._ For once, he didn't argue.

One of Theseus' spells suddenly shot past, skimming along the edge of Grindelwald's shield, narrowly missing Tina and smashing the window behind her instead as she jumped back with a curse. The spell itself made no impact on anyone in the room, but Tina's exclamation was enough to draw Theseus' attention – his face flooded with concern for a moment before turning hastily back to Grindelwald. But the damage was already done. Realising that there was more going on behind him than he had initially assumed, Grindelwald glanced over his shoulder to see Newt and Tina standing there, both with wands raised and faces set.

Grindelwald's mismatched eyes met Newt's wide blue ones, and, in that moment, Newt truly felt scared. Not just the instinctual, animal fear of pain – true, icy terror. _You know what's he's going to do._

There was a moment as the tableau seemingly froze, before everyone in the room – minus Dumbledore – acted at the exact same time.

Theseus and Percival hurled more hexes at Grindelwald's shield in a clear attempt to redirect his attention away from Newt.

Tina sent a stunner towards the dark wizard.

And Newt cast a hasty shield as he pre-empted what no one else seemed to realise was coming.

 _They don't know him like you do, eh Newt?_ Oh, just SHUT UP already!

All the intuition in the world, however, could not prevent Grindelwald's curse from breaking through Newt's weak shield like paper and striking it's intended target full force in the chest. His magic was weak from his much abused physical and mental state, not to mention the strain of using another person's wand and his _Protego_ barely slowed the curse at all. Newt let out a yell of fear and anguish as the curse cleaved flesh apart and caused blood to spout feet out into the air with the impact of the spell. A body hit the floor with a dull thump, blood seeping from multiple lacerations and down into the hungry stone below.

" _No_! Percival!" Newt's voice cracked at his shout and he ran forward, stumbling clumsily on his injured legs and half-collapsing as he hurled himself towards where Percival lay - so still. _Corpse like_.

Before he could reach Percival's side however, he was caught around the middle, one arm swinging him back into a warm, solid body and the other grasping his bloody left wrist in a painfully tight grip. He felt tears burn at the backs of his eyes as Grindelwald manhandled him calmly, coldly away from his the motionless Auror. He couldn't be dead. He can't be. He's strong. He can pull though this. _You still have the wand Newt, you can fight back. Stop being a victim and fight!_

He looked up through tear-filled, sea-blue eyes at his brother, who had moved forward to check on Percival, fingers at his neck and frowning deeply. _No comfort there._ He looked to Dumbledore, no longer standing near the archway and instead directly in front of them now. His eyes were furiously glinting in the early morning sunlight that still streamed through the broken windows. The struggle, the pain of not being able to stop any of this from happening was tearing him apart from the inside. Likely the most powerful wizard in the room and yet he was currently powerless to stop any of this from happening. _Poor thing._

Though he could not see the man pinning him, Newt could feel the tension in the dark wizard's body and when he spoke, he could hear the hard edge to his tone. "No more interruptions Albus, let us adjourn somewhere a little more private to finish this, shall we?" He released Newt's chest and offered out a hand to his old lover. An invitation.

Dumbledore nodded solemnly even as Theseus leapt to his feet, face furious and eyes fixed upon Dumbledore in disbelief. "I don't think so!"

But before Theseus could do much more than yell, Albus had reached forward and gripped Grindelwald's proffered arm. Just before the three of them apparated out of the hall, Grindelwald let out a low whistle through his teeth and the room was suddenly filled with a dozen or more dark robed witches and wizards. Theseus and Tina were forced to engage the newcomers as the air was suddenly alit with spellfire. _Evidently a distraction._

"Dumbledore! You promised-!" But whatever the professor had promised Theseus was cut off as Newt, Albus and Grindelwald were ripped away from Nurmengard with a loud crack.

 _What have you done now?_

 **A/N – I had great fun writing the "'50 Shades of Grey' meets the wizarding world" wand movements from Collin Farrell's Graves as quoted by Eddie 'the Cinnamon-roll' Redmayne in an interview. Or as I prefer to call it – '50 Shades of Graves' (Please someone fic this shit! I saw something close in a fic called 'Pretty Intense Wand Technique' but I would like to see more of lol). But FYI, I had GREAT difficulty writing this chapter and I'm sorry if you now all hate me for it.**

 **Also, a big thank you to SomeRandomHuman and Vindsie as ever for just being amazingly supportive and interactive – you guys are AWESOME!**

 ***coughs self-consciously* um anyways… please read and review?**


	23. Chapter 23

" **If we suddenly fall should I scream out, or keep very quiet and cling to my mouth as I'm crying, so frightened of dying, relax, yes, I'm trying, but fear's got a hold on me…** **I can feel my heart beating as I speed from, the sense of time catching up with me, the sky's set out like a pathway, but who decides which route we take. As people drift into a dreamworld, I close my eyes as my hands shake and when I see a new day, who's driving this anyway, I picture my own grave, cause fear's got a hold on me. Floating neither up or down, I wonder when I'll hit the ground, will the earth beneath my body shake and cast your sleeping hearts awake could it tremble stars from moonlit skies could it drag a tear from your cold eyes I live on the right side, I sleep on the left, that's why everything's got to be love or death." – 'Death' – White Lies**

Bitter cold wind enveloped them the moment they re-apparated. Newt's shivering intensified by ten-fold, but Grindelwald and Dumbledore didn't seem to really notice – wrapped as they were in warm looking cloaks and suits. He took in their surroundings with eyes that squinted in the force of the strong gale that was blowing through the open area of mountain that they were currently situated on. There was a clear slope to the ankle-deep snow beneath their feet, sliding off dramatically to a sharp, nasty looking drop. Against his better judgement, Newt tilted his head slightly to get a better look at the precipice and instantly regretted it.

They were currently feet from the lip of a several hundred-foot fall. The ground not even visible below the light cloud cover. Newt was not afraid of heights by any great degree but being so close to a cliff where the cloud-line was _below_ them just didn't seem very safe at all – especially with his body being as unstable at it currently was. _Not like it's anything particularly new for you._

His violent shivering intensified to the point of physical damage when Grindelwald released his hold on Newt, and he collapsed into the deep snow. His nerve endings screeched it contact with the bitterly cold dampness and he pushed himself up as quickly as he could with both hands – the numbing cold seeming to help the itching pain in his left hand somewhat – probably due with the abrupt slow of blood circulation. Newt stood unsteadily, stumbling a few steps away from the dark wizard, bare feet burrowing deep tracks in the freezing snow and arms wrapped tightly around his shivering body. He wouldn't last long in these conditions, hypothermia was just another worry to add onto the ever-growing list.

But even the numbing, killing cold couldn't erase the horrifying image of Percival laying sprawled out, bleeding and broken on the flagstones of Nurmengard castle. He had looked so fierce, determined and almost unstoppable to Newt… until he suddenly hadn't. Even with his clear exhaustion and the strain that being around Grindelwald was putting on him, he had still given everything he had to fight. The least Newt could do for his injured, _likely dead,_ friend was to give that same fight.

Newt raised his borrowed wand and turned to shoot a spell at Grindelwald – another burning hex that he aimed straight for the man's face once more. Grindelwald blocked the jet of light with practised ease – clearly having expected the attack, but Newt's long pent up anger, humiliation and the newfound grief fuelled a constant barrage of verbal burning hexes, stinging jinxes and stunning spells that had Grindelwald shielding continually. The snow-filled air shimmering around them with the whiteish shield and the multi-coloured flashes of Newt's spells.

The dark wizard looked rather amused by Newt's antics until Newt suddenly staggered forwards, feigning a pained collapse as he allowed his malformed leg to shutter underneath him. He rolled into the fall, however, sliding his freeze-burnt body along the slippery snow and up under the man's shield, quickly shooting a more powerful verbal spell at him this time. " _Locomotor Mortis!_ "

The look of shock on Grindelwald's face was almost priceless as his legs were suddenly bound together by tight black cords and pulled out from under him. He fell heavily to the snowy ground, and Newt didn't waste a moment in following up with another hasty burning hex. This one went a bit off target however, hitting Grindelwald's shoulder instead of his face, but Newt still felt a guilty little thrill of satisfaction as the man hissed in pain and annoyance. The young magizoologist wasn't going to stoop to the other man's level by attempting any deadly or too malicious curses - not really trusting himself or the foreign-wand to be able to control the spells enough to stop.

He was about to cast a full body-binding spell on the other wizard when Grindelwald shot a spell of his own at Newt, he only just managed to bring up a shield to take the jet of orange light. The improvised defence absorbed some of the blast, but Newt still felt searing heat burn across his chest and he was sent flying backwards. He didn't even have time to register that he was about to plummet off the edge of the cliff before he was suddenly hanging in the air, suspended by magic above the dizzying fall.

Newt breathed heavily as he was brought back onto solid ground by a surprisingly gentle magic that let him down slowly so that he found time to support his own weight and stand, rather than collapse. He was shaking harder than ever, eyes wide from the terror of the near fall and clutching his now empty hands to his heaving ribcage – worryingly feeling definite movement - as panic nearly overtook him. _Bloody hell._

He looked down at his chest to see that the previously open lash marks that still littered his chest had been scorched and effectively cauterised shut. _Well take your victories where you can find them, I suppose._ Although oddly enough, the mark of the Deathly Hallows seemed unaffected by the burns that encased the rest of his torso, it was almost as if the lingering dark magic in the wound was preventing anything from distorting the design.

Newt gulped painedly for breath, shaking uncontrollably from the adrenaline and cold, he then flinched violently when a warm weight wrapped itself around his trembling shoulders. It was only a cloak however, a sage green one that clasped around his throat softly and he relaxed just a little into the warmth it provided, even if his legs, feet and face were still numbed beyond belief.

He looked up towards Dumbledore, expecting it to have been him who had conjured the cloak, but feeling a shock of surprise when he saw his mentor eying Grindelwald with a perplexed look on his face. Following his gaze, he could see the dark wizard standing, apparently having freed himself from Newt's bindings and regarding the young magizoologist with an unfathomable, oddly blank look on his pale face. If Newt didn't know any better, he could have sworn that Grindelwald had surprised even himself with the action. _But which one of them stopped you from falling?_

He ignored his preoccupation and cast his gaze about for his borrowed wand, not seeing it anywhere nearby, Newt resigned himself to the despondent thought that he must have dropped it when he went plummeting off the edge of the cliff. Almost as if sensing his defeat, Dumbledore moved with careful, impressively elegant steps - considering the ankle-deep snow and powerful wind – and came to stand beside Newt. One of his warm hands was placed upon Newt's shoulder in a brief, seemingly comforting gesture before he drew his wand.

Grindelwald stepped forward, they were now standing in a loose triangle, Newt and Dumbledore slightly further down the slope and Grindelwald just ahead of them. Both elder wizards held their wands in light grips and regarded one another with assessing, penetrating looks for some time. Newt shifted slightly on his feet, feeling all of a sudden as if he was intruding on some private moment. _They want you here for something Newt, otherwise you wouldn't be here, would you?_

Despite the sense that the voice was making, he pushed it back again, not willing to draw either one of their attentions towards him by voicing his thoughts. The tension that filled the unstill air felt as though it would shatter at any moment if the wrong move was made.

Grindelwald was – quite predictably – the one to break the verbal silence as he addressed Dumbledore with an almost patronisingly tolerant tone – one that was crafted to broach no argument. "I'm not going to forestall you here Albus, you know what needs to be done and as you are the only one of us capable of initiating it, I suggest you get on with it."

Dumbledore released a sigh that was caught in the howling wind and carried away, but the resignation in his eyes overtook the resistance in that moment as he turned to Newt. "I would not ask this of you if I had a better alternative Newt, but… circumstances have left me in a position where I can no longer turn a purposefully blind eye to Gellert's actions."

Newt nodded even as his shivers continued, he pulled the cloak tighter to himself. Dumbledore reached into his own cloak and withdrew the blood-binding pendant from its folds – holding the silvery charm up for Newt to see. The crimson liquid suspended in the charm ever-moving and twisting like an Occamy within the glass. "You are aware of the implications of a blood-oath?"

Newt nodded again, eyes flicking over to Grindelwald for a moment, who was regarding the two of them with a tense, inscrutable expression. Whatever Dumbledore was about to tell him was apparently so serious - or unpleasant - that even Grindelwald wasn't going to attempt to intervene with his usual acerbic humour or cruel commentary.

"There is a way to break the bond and, as you are likely already aware – it includes your participation." Dumbledore seemed reluctant to continue, his azure eyes searching Newt's for something – it took the younger man a moment to realise that he was looking for forgiveness, for understanding.

There was a tiny, selfish part of Newt that wanted to refuse whatever it was simply because he just didn't want to be used a pawn between the two men anymore, to just go back to his case, take care of his creatures and forget about all of this. But that part of him was very small. He knew that Dumbledore wouldn't ask this of him unless he did not think it was the best option he had. Newt trusted that if both of the most powerful wizards in the world set aside their differences _and similarities_ and saw it as the best solution… then it probably was. Grindelwald couldn't be allowed to continue on his path to war. He just couldn't.

"Just tell me what you need me to do."

He saw Dumbledore's eyes glimmer and saw the gratitude there. He seemed relieved that Newt was so acquiescent – they both knew that Grindelwald was likely going to make this as difficult as possible for both, he had clearly been stalling for Dumbledore to broach the explanation to Newt. He wasn't going to make it easy for either of them to just get this over with.

Gellert Grindelwald was eternally a man justifying his actions in whatever ways he could – by arguing for 'the greater good', for personal injustices, misconceptions about his own mercy... but no matter what he did, he was still fuelled by the same blind hatred and self-righteousness that almost any other fanatic was. By positioning Albus to be the one to initiate the proposition, Grindelwald was trying to absolve himself of any guilt in the eyes of history, but also to make Albus experience it all the more so.

So concerned about his reputation and the illusions he was weaving and upkeeping for so long, that he likely wasn't even aware of the original intent behind it all anymore. He was so focussed upon staying multiple steps ahead of every other player in the game, that he hadn't stopped to think about what would happen when it was all over. Even if Grindelwald won, if he broke the blood-bond, defeated Dumbledore and completed his conquest of the wizarding and Muggle worlds… he would still be left at the end with the same emptiness as before. Gellert had said it himself, hadn't he? _"Perseverance and perception are attributes often born of isolated, dark experiences in life – we who have spent years observing others from the outskirts of life, know better than most the conviction of true belief. With little else to cling onto, we establish credence in one thing or another and let that guide us."_

He justified every single despicable action in his crusade because he couldn't bear what he would see if he stopped. What had started as a boyhood fascination had become what kept him going – if he ever discarded those things that he had come to value above all else, he would be forced to consider just _what_ he had done to reach his 'greater good.' The awareness that if he ever stopped, even for one moment, he would be consumed by the futility of it all – the hollowness of life without passion.

And Albus was just constant, living reminder of what he could have had if he had not let his darker impulses overcome him…. Newt felt the stirrings of pity for both men. Gellert for what he had become – for what he had _allowed_ himself to become. And pity for Albus for being forced to witness it helplessly from afar for so many years.

Newt wasn't going to let either of them wallow in it any longer.

"The blood-bond requires a living host, Newt, once the pendant is broken, it must be transferred into a living being or else both of the participants will be destroyed… along with any connected to the associated bloodlines." Albus' eyes gleamed at the mention of bloodlines – clearly remembering what had happened the last time Gellert had become involved with his loved ones. "The part that concerns you is that the new host must be strong of mind, entirely willing and… must hold a personal connection to both of the participants."

Newt raised a slightly doubtful brow at his words, of all the terms that could be used to describe him now – or ever – he would never class himself as having a strong mind. While he didn't want to admit it, he understood that then other qualifications were… unfortunately filled. Newt didn't think that he would ever get used to the idea of holding a personal connection to two such powerful, notoriously different wizards. It was just odd. _Merlin's beard, where did your policy of not taking sides and your 'anonymity' go?_

He made an effort to keep his voice purposefully low, but the hoarse, pain-strained sound that came out sounded much smaller and weaker than he meant it to. "I- I'm n-not sure if I'm really up to-… not- I mean I don't t-think I'm e-exactly in the right s-state of m-mind to do something… like _this_." He finished the sentence a bit lamely, flushing red beyond the cold and fixing his gaze firmly on Dumbledore's left shoulder; he could not bare to look at either him or Grindelwald. He didn't want to see the respective expressions of disappointment or amusement from either wizard.

Newt really did want to help, but he didn't want risk ruining everything because of his… questionable state of mind. A persistent voice in his head was not something he wanted to risk killing Dumbledore with because the bond failed due to his weakness. _Don't act like this is all because of me, you're falling apart no matter which way you look at it._ Very encouraging, thank you.

A soft, open voice coaxed back his attention. "You know why I admire you, Newt? More, perhaps than any man I know?" A practically venomous look from Grindelwald had Newt wincing, but Dumbledore continued as if the other wizard was not present, blue eyes fixed fondly on Newt. "You don't seek power or popularity. You simply ask, is the thing right in itself? If it is, then I must do it, no matter the cost."

Dumbledore placed a gloved hand on his shoulder again, just above where the symbol of the Deathly Hallows was burned into his flesh under the cloak, waiting patiently until Newt finally dared to meet his gaze. There was no disappointment there, just an unswerving fondness and such faith that it left Newt a bit staggered.

He responded honestly before his brain really caught up with the words, but not in the same way that Grindelwald had once forced answers out of him – this was more of a contagion of the resigned resistance. It felt oddly right – the sense that whatever was about to happen _should_ happen and that he should give everything he had into letting it happen. "I'll do my best, professor."

"Newt, you haven't been my student for well over ten years and I would like to think that by now you would consider me a friend." Dumbledore's tone was chastising and almost playful, but his eyes suggested a deeper concern. Newt huffed out a wheezing, shaky laugh that made his ribs ache abysmally, offering the man a wry smile but before he could venture a proper response, Grindelwald stepped forward – clearly not appreciating being ignored for quite so long.

"If you are quite finished, I, for one am eager to be rid of this bond so that we might move onto other matters." An ugly sneer twisted his lips, mismatched eyes colder than the surrounding snow. "Or one of us might."

Both Newt and Dumbledore turned their full attentions back to the fuming wizard, he seemed less than pleased with the interaction between then, but clearly had been putting up with it up until that point so that the explanation might be made. Newt, apparently, had to be willing and aware for this to work – a fact evidenced by the fact that Grindelwald hadn't yet cursed him into submission.

Grindelwald wanted to be rid of the bond – likely so that he could kill Albus and then convince himself that his cause's importance was enough to justify it. Dumbledore still represented everything that Grindelwald saw to be weakness – love, a painful past and a possibly greater power than his own. He likely thought that if he could end the other wizard, then any resistance against him would die along with him and that he could bury his past along with that last remnant of resistance.

"Simply tell the boy what he needs to do and get on with it, Albus." His face twitched slightly as he regarded them both coldly.

"Very well, Newt, if you would stand over there please." Dumbledore spoke with practised calm, as if he was back in his classroom at Hogwarts and was demonstrating a spell with a student.

Newt took a stumbling, dead-footed step forwards before nearly collapsing in a heap. Whilst standing for too long in the same spot, bare-foot in the snow, his lower body had lost almost all feeling, his already unstable legs refusing to listen to his commands as sharp, shooting pains shot through the numbness. It was only Dumbledore stepping forward to catch his weight that prevented him from faceplanting the snowy ground before him. He leant heavily on the older man, breath coming out in hard, harsh pants through gritted teeth that left dragon's breath clouds in the air. His body simply wouldn't do what he wanted anymore. _Just another thing taken away from you._

"Gellert, if you could…?" Whatever the man asked was met with an exasperated sigh and he saw Grindelwald step forward to impatiently seize Dumbledore's arm and there was another crack of apparition.

They reappeared on what seemed to be the rooftop of Nurmengard castle, a large, open flat space that was shielded from the worst of the mountain winds by the surrounding rooftops. It was significantly less cold this far lower down and out of the biting wind. There were also mounted torches dotted about the edges of the expanse of grey flagstone that seemed immune to the effects of the snow and wind as they glowed brightly. The castle seemed to have weather wards placed over it, as the flurries of snowflakes were whipping around a curved magical dome high above their heads. _Well this is a bit less dramatic._ Sarcasm is _still_ not helpful, you know.

Newt felt a wave of relief flood through him as a hot-air charm enveloped his frozen, numbed flesh and muscles from a series of complicated movements of Dumbledore's wand. Unfortunately, the pain that the cold had been abating came back in full force and Newt let out a low moan as his limbs, chest and face burned with fresh agony.

He stood despite Dumbledore's attempts to stop him and took several shaking steps to stand in a position similarly situated to how the elder wizard had before indicated, turning to face them with a gritted jaw and determined blue eyes. "I'd rather get this over with if that's alright." He paused for a moment and the offered Dumbledore a small, broken but genuine smile. "Thank you for everything, Albus."

Dumbledore looked hesitant for a moment, but Grindelwald let out a bark of laughter and nodded his head approvingly towards each in turn. "See Albus, there's no point in fussing over our little Newt now. As long as he can stay alive long enough to complete the ritual, then there's nothing else to be concerned about. It is not as if he's likely to survive any of this."

Fixing Grindelwald with a very pained, disproving stare, Dumbledore withdrew the blood-binding pendant and beckoned his dark counterpart towards him. Newt was struck suddenly by the physical contrast between the two.

Where Gellert was pale skinned with carefully spiked white-blonde hair and ethereally ageless looking in his dark, dramatic clothes, Albus was weathered, slightly tanned skin lined with worry and greying auburn hair and beard laying neat.

Mismatched eyes – one dark blue and the other an icy, deadened silver met bright, ever-twinkling blue.

This, if nothing else, demonstrated the stark distinction between the two – Dumbledore's appearance showing signs of natural, graceful aging and Grindelwald clearly working against the natural way of things in every way he could.

A man accepting the natural process of death and other consumed by it.

"Thank you, Newt." Dumbledore's voice was soft as he raised his wand, floating the blood-binding pendant to hang in the centre of the reformed triangle they had made. Newt managed to maintain his smile and a jerky nod, taking a deep, calming breath to prepare himself. _The eternal martyr aren't you Newt?_

"Hold out your arm, Liebling." Grindelwald's voice is alarmingly soft as he addresses Newt, though he keeps the mocking term of endearment as a clear way to assert his lack of sympathy, whilst also demonstrating an odd sort of… gratitude? Its bizarre to witness, but by this point, Newt isn't all that shocked by Grindelwald's seemingly dramatic and random mood swings. Newt complies with the request however and brings his still bloody left arm out of the cloak – he assumes that's why the wizard had done the damage and when Grindelwald does not protest, he turns his attention back to Dumbledore.

" _Quaerat ornatus aperire"_ The verbal casting of the spell threw Newt a little – powerful wizards rarely chose to use verbal spells as they had no need for such trivialities unless the magic involved were particularly powerful and required finer focus. The casting was unfamiliar, but Newt was not particularly surprised by that as he doubted many would have attempted this sort of magic at all – let alone in his experience.

The blood-binding pendant shattered under the force of Dumbledore's magic and the fragments of glass and silver hung suspended in the chilled air for several seconds, blood flowing indolently through the shards. The rather macabrely beautiful sight was shattered however when the broken remnants of the blood-oath came to life and seemingly without any prompt from any of the wizards present, darted like a bird of prey towards Newt.

The remnants of glass, silver and blood latch themselves onto the skin of his left arm – almost as if the presence of Newt's own exposed blood were some sort of homing-beacon. And its burns. Oh, how it _burns_. There wasn't another word he could use to describe the fire that fuses itself into his flesh.

The molten physical manifestation of the blood-oath flows over his skin, burning its way through his flesh with agonising slowness. He drops to the cold ground and twists, screaming hard. He can't control it, can't even think of who was watching him, where he was, or why. As the substance burns it way in agonising lines across his body, Newt yells harder and feels the magic beginning to seep into his mind.

It's like the blood-oath is requesting entry into his own bloodstream by subjecting to body to unbearable, agonizing torment. But that is something that Newt has a large amount of experience with by this point. He could feel an odd, distorted presence in his mind, not dark in its nature per say, just…. _invasive_. There is no feeling of malicious intent to the blood-oath, merely the feeling of something strong attempting to enter where it should not. He could feel his body jerking violently upon something hard and cold, his arm burning and skin crawling with the alien intrusion.

Newt turns away from the physical sensations and instead redirects his attention into the sensations in his mind. Its different from having Legilimency performed on him as it isn't the feeling of one mind penetrating his own and sifting through the memories there. Instead, it seems to be showing him memories in return – a parasitic force that was trying to negotiate entry by ensuring that a connection was already established. The memories, both the warm and the cold, feel oddly familiar and Newt allows them in.

Newt could see images, hear sounds, scent smells and feel emotions playing through his overloaded, invaded mind with flickering, dizzying rapidity. At first its hard to distinguish any particular pattern or sanity in the blur of colours, shapes and sounds, but as Newt focuses further, he learns to associate each experience with his conception of a certain person. Once he does that, places a name and a face to each individual stream of chaos, things start to fall into place. He flies back and forth through decades of memories at seemingly random, witnessing shared experiences from both Grindelwald and Dumbledore – seeing how their memories were webbed together in dreams like an endless stream. The blood-bond linked them closer than he ever thought, than he had ever wanted to realise.

Tracing through the lines, paths and patterns in the mirrored but drastically opposing, Newt found himself in the memories of when the two men were much younger. A good-looking teenage boy that had bright auburn hair and familiar blue eyes smiling raptly as he listened to another boy – slightly older looking, pale and sharply handsome in a colder, more confident way. He could see how Grindelwald had lured Albus in with his cold blue eyes, his charmingly simple smile and his bewitching lies.

Gellert was reading to from a thick, leather bound tome as they sat sprawled out on a grassy bank, winter sunshine warming both as they sat blissfully outside in the crisp weather. Although Albus was clearly eagerly drinking every word that was read in that rich, hypnotic, accented voice, Newt could tell that Albus was more enamoured with the boy's voice and face - with the suggestive words and burning blue eyes. Newt felt it as the ideas burrowed themselves deep into Albus' head and heart, delivered with such seductive, articulated perfection that even his niggling doubts were outweighed by his desire to impress the other.

"' _-it is much safer to be feared than loved because ...love is preserved by the link of obligation which, owing to the baseness of men, is broken at every opportunity for their advantage; but fear preserves you by a dread of punishment which never fails.' See Albus? The ideas have been passed down to from centuries long past – our world can come about if we go about it the right way…"_

The manipulation had been clear – the intent that he was moulding the other wizard to his will through the use of his emotions, but Newt could sense the genuine love in Gellert's memories of him – he just didn't know what it was or what to do with it, so had repressed it in favour of forming a cold, icy detachment. Doling out enough affection and gratification to keep Albus satisfied… though there truly had been moments of love and tenderness between the two. Deep down, Gellert had known, deep down, that Albus was not the same as him – he still had family that he cared for and held the capability to move past the pain. Gellert would never have that.

Even when those last ties were cut for Albus, it would still never be right – Gellert had been the one to sever them. He realised his folly and wallowed in it – turning it into the hate that fuelled him.

Both minds shone with such astounding brilliance that Newt was left feeling dull and slow in comparison – like a child trying to contribute to the conversation between two adults about something he desperately wished he understood. But there were also alarming similarities to be witnessed – not just between Gellert and Albus, those were plain enough to behold, but in terms of the three of them. Newt was beginning to understand – astounded as he still was – why both had taken an interest in him.

Their growth as individuals had been both stunted and bloomed due too early onset tragedies – Albus with what happened to his father - imprisoned, mother – dead and his sister - killed and later the man he loved - betrayed.

Newt too with the loss of both his parents – though in different ways, his mother from illness quite suddenly and his father over a long span of years that started long before he was even born. His expulsion from Hogwarts for something that he wasn't entirely to blame for. His estrangement from Theseus over Leta and the subsequent years of isolation, choosing to pursue his work with creatures. The pain of the loneliness and the fear of drawing affection leading him to an even greater isolation.

And Gellert, a shadow in his own home, an only child – a failed attempt at a continually pure bloodline, allowed alone too long by uncaring parents who did not attempt to nurture their son's abilities and instead dedicated themselves to other activities. Sent away to visit his aunt in England because they didn't wish to have the ever-so-promising failure, the Durmstrang drop-out, the _queer_ \- taint the reputation of their family with his 'detestable' actions.

They had all found their own commitments to immerse themselves in from a young age. Directing their loneliness and pain into one, all-consuming task in life. A purpose.

For Newt, it had been helping his creatures – for as long as he could remember – drawn to them and them to him, inexplicably so.

For Gellert and Albus it had been a shared goal at first – the Deathly Hallows and the pursuit of their 'the greater good'.

Then their paths diverged; Albus taking the route of educating young minds to assuage his guilt and help children to find the happiness that he had not been able to. The eternal struggle to _do_ better had eventually made him feel that he could _be_ better.

But Gellert's mirrored path that ran so close alongside had tainted even that – consumed with his ideals and visions for and of the future. He worked ever onwards, killing, maiming, converting and manipulating. The need to fill his emptiness driving him _ever onwards_ for fear of ever stopping.

And it had brought them all to here, to now.

Newt could feel the Blood-oath's presence withdrawing slowly from his mind, no, wait, _not_ withdrawing, sinking _deeper_ than ever. It delved into the very depths of his mind and stayed there, laying itself like an immovable, invisible slick on the foundations of his brain. Barely there, barely noticeable, but a constant, almost undetectable hum of magic and thought. A presence that he already felt accustomed to… almost as if it was meant to be there. _That couldn't be right, could it?_

Newt became aware of his body quite quickly after that, feeling his aching, much-abused, frozen limbs and extremities making their agony known to him all at once in a searing cacophony of misery. He let out a low, broken moan that was interspersed with sobs that left glistening tear trails down his face.

Newt had thought that this was meant to be _over_ , that this had been the last trial – the suffering to end his suffering for good. No more hurting, no more humiliation, no more manipulations, no more friends being hurt and killed. _Poor Percival is probably dead by now - has bled out while you failed to do something as simple as dying for the greater good. Your brother and Tina probably joined him, the Niffler too most likely, its not like you would have anything left to fight for anyway…_

That's when he felt a soft, cold hand on his cheek, a thumb wiping away the cold streams of tears gently, as another, warmer, rougher hand clutched his hand. He cracked open his eyes just a sliver and caught a glimpse of white-blonde hair directly above him, mismatched eyes piercing down at him with something dark glinting in them, something that was close to wonder. He heard the words in that smooth, spellbinding voice float across him, hoping beyond hope that the world would just leave him alone…that he could just fade away and leave living to those who could handle it.

"He's quite the remarkable little thing isn't he, Albus? How he swims in a sea of pain and _just_ when you think he's about to drown in it - go under for good… he turns his head for air, he gasps so desperately and then just keeps on going. I've never seen anything quite like it before." Grindelwald's lips curled into something so truly vile that it couldn't even be called a smile. "He's a truly beautiful creature in his own way. Don't you want to see how far he can go? You always did like things that were astoundingly recalcitrant, didn't you?"

Newt felt as though his hope were being sifted through a sieve. Each shake, each cruel jerk, and a little more was lost. He was stuck here – not even the man who had been so intent on his destruction for so long, would grant him the reprieve of just letting him go. His burnt, scarred, slashed, aching chest heaved with more sobs and he felt the cold hand brush across his cheekbone, across his slightly parted lips and down to cup his jaw. "Ich werde dich beschützen, kleiner Newt"

He didn't know what the words meant, but the warm hand on his uninjured right hand suddenly left and he opened his eyes wider to see Dumbledore standing above him, expression so petrified that he felt fear of his own pierce through the fog of apathy that had descended upon him. Whatever was quite so horrific that Albus Dumbledore would react in such a way must be worth his full consciousness. Newt pulled every ounce of his weary awareness to keep his eyes open and watch as Grindelwald and Dumbledore came to face one another above him.

Evidently, Newt must have passed whatever challenge the blood-oath had posed to him, as when Grindelwald hurled a hex at Dumbledore, neither seemed effected either than from the spell itself. The impressive cascade of spells, charms, hexes, curses and jinxes that flicked and deflected from one to the other, seared the air with the sheer amount of power being expended.

Grindelwald would send a red bolt of a _Cruciatus_ at Dumbledore who would dodge, sidestepping gracefully to the side and returning with a stunning spell of his own. Gellert would shoot a burning hex and Dumbledore would block it with a mere flick of a hand, volleying a full body-bind curse back with his wand. The magic – both verbal and nonverbal, wandless and wand-worked – was incredibly impressive to witness. Had Newt been able to move more than his head, he would likely have been trying to get the hell out of there, as the spells came alarmingly close, some scorching the hairs on his body with their skimming trails. As it was, Newt lay there, his overtaxed body unable to do more than watch on for an indeterminate amount of time as the most powerful two wizards of the century duelled one another.

It was honestly hard to tell who had the upper hand, both seemed almost equally matched in power – even though Grindelwald held the Elder Wand. But Newt could tell that neither actually trying to use lethal force on the other.

Albus, likely didn't want to stoop to Gellert's level by killing him – that eternal hope for better glimmering unbreakably in his blue eyes as he levelled spell after spell at the man in increasingly less predictable patterns. His technique apparently outplaying even the sheer power of the Deathly Hallow.

Why Gellert wasn't using the killing curse however, Newt wasn't entirely sure, though he had a niggling suspicion from the time he had spent inside the other's head that he didn't want it to end so quickly. He truly didn't seem to understand the emotions he was experiencing, but his affection was preventing him from just killing Albus… even if he tried to convince himself it was something else.

Almost as if he was sensing Newt's gaze on him, he saw Grindelwald glance down at him for a moment, a terrifyingly tender smile twisting his pale lips as he suddenly flicked his wand at Newt, sending him flying backwards, away from the crossfire of the duel and incidentally into one of the stone parapets. Newt's head cracked hard against the solid surface with a sickening _thunk_ that he did not hear as he lost faded into a welcoming, soft, painless blackness.

 _Peace at last._

 **A/N – I'm planning a sequel to this and the name I'm playing around with at the moment is 'The Killing Moon' after the song by Echo and the Bunnymen which is WELL worth a listen. Anyways, hope that this wasn't as disappointing to read as it was to write. I really struggle with characterising Dumbledore as he is such a complex character and I honestly don't know how to write such** _ **human**_ **emotions for all the characters. Mental health issues, I can do as I have a vast amount of experience in that department but love and jealousy is more difficult.**


	24. Chapter 24

" **Here am I, whole at last with a golden view, looking for hope, and I hope it's you, splitting my heart, cracked right in two, the pleasure of pain endured, to purify our misfit ways and magnify our crystal days. Where are you, in shadows only I can see, looking for hope and you hope it's me, tattered and torn and born to be, building a world where we can purify our misfit ways and magnify our crystal days." – 'Crystal Days' – Echo and the Bunnymen**

The rooms in the ' _Caligari-Klinik_ ' were painted a pale robin's egg blue colour; supposedly meant to help promote a sterile, soothing environment that made the patients feel safe and calm. Percival did not find the intended effects very successful. All that the colour did was remind him of the blank, open stretch of sky that he had seen through the shattered windows of Nurmengard castle as he bled out on the flagstones. Unable to do anything but lay there as his strength left him with every slowing beat of his heart.

He had felt the pain in a detached way, as if he were floating above his failing body as the battle raged on around it. He recalled flashes of spellfire from all sides, shouts and curses flickering in and out of his hearing and interest. The only thing that he could really focus upon at the time was the thought that Newt had tried to protect him. The younger man had predicted what none of the experienced Aurors in the room had and shielded Percival as best he could. It had brought a warm, heavy feeling into Percival's shredded chest that had helped to ground him back into himself. He had gradually teased himself into awareness, enough to properly register the aching, vicious pain from the numerous lacerations in his chest from Grindelwald's spell.

His long-honed Auror's instincts had failed him and he felt a jab of anger at himself for not deflecting or predicting the attack. Retrospectively, it had been painfully clear that Grindelwald had been using his taunting of Percival, Dumbledore and Theseus to get to Newt. Whilst it was not a tactic that he had ever experienced from the dark wizard before – Grindelwald having been preoccupied with isolating Percival as much as possible during his incarceration – he saw the twisted logic behind it. It had worked too; he had felt rage and concern overtake his better judgement in the face of Grindelwald's callous behaviour. He had attacked without fully considering the implications of being the first to initiate the contact and the vulnerability it had presented as he was then put on the defensive.

But what had truly got to Percival had not been the signs of physical abuse on Newt, as horrifying as they were, no, it had been the unnerving displays of affection he had made. The clearly unwelcome caresses, the _bite marks_ , the casually cruel words and the insinuations had disgusted and horrified Percival. The very idea that the man had… _defiled_ Newt in the ways he was implying…. It had destroyed him.

Newt was likely the purest, sweetest soul he had ever encountered. A man who, despite witnessing unspeakable horrors in his life, having fought in war and endured horrific tortures, still put others before him. But not out of any misconstrued sense of heroism on his part… simply because he thought it was the right thing to do. It was heart-breaking to witness such a strong, caring individual as he, degraded and looking so broken by someone as vile as Gellert Grindelwald.

It had been the Demiguise who had saved him.

At times like this, Percival found himself convinced that Albus Dumbledore must hold some sort of seer power of his own to rival that of Grindelwald. He seemed to predict exactly what would be needed in any given situation for things to turn out how he wanted them to – almost as well as the Demiguise itself did. When he and Theseus had been filling him and the Goldstein sisters in on what they intended to do, he had expressed his dubiousness on the simplicity of the plan until Dumbledore had brought up the suggestion to bring Newt's case of magical creatures with them.

Percival and Tina had both ventured their scepticism to the idea – both at the idea that they would be handling a large collection of dangerous creatures without the proper knowledge to control them, but also because they didn't think that Newt would appreciate having his creatures being placed in harm's way. Theseus and Dumbledore however, had pointed out that they had both had a fair amount of experience hearing and seeing Newt handle the creatures over the years. In the end, Percival was decidedly thankful that they had suggested the idea. Tina had gotten Newt a wand using the Niffler whilst the other Aurors kept Grindelwald distracted. Giving Newt a way to help himself seemed like the better option, both in terms of tactics as well as letting Newt have a chance to fight back. Percival of all people knew what it felt like to be helpless and abused for too long and needing the chance to change the situation for himself. He had not got that chance, but at least he had given it to Newt.

But it had been the Demiguise that had ended up being the real table-turner. The creature had apparently sensed the most likely immediate future around it – Percival's imminent death – and crept from the disillusioned case that Tina had left by the stone archway when she went to help Newt. Percival hadn't been aware of the presence of the creature until it had made itself suddenly visible right beside him. At first, the Auror had thought that his fading, fuzzy mind was playing tricks on him as the white furred ape-like beast had climbed on top of his lower abdomen, clearly avoiding the wounds on his chest. It had looked down at him with huge, golden, shining eyes that had had him convinced he was hallucinating.

He had felt something pressed into his hand with soft, downy feeling paws and looked down to see a small vial of greenish liquid in his loose grip. It took him several long, pained moments to realise what the substance was, but once he did, he offered a weak smile to the odd creature that was perched on his hips. He had struggled to manoeuvre the vial up over his chest and unstopper it with heavily shaking fingers, he had carefully dropped a few splashes of the essence of Dittany onto the wounds that ripped his flesh. Percival had gritted his teeth to swallow down his pained cries as greenish smoke billowed upward and when it had cleared, he had seen that the bleeding had stopped. The wounds had then looked several days old; new skin stretched over what had been open flesh moments before.

The fog had lessened in his brain and he had pushed himself up into a sitting position as quickly as his drained body would allow. The Demiguise had thoughtfully clambered off him once it saw that he was no longer in danger of imminent death, loping off in a sedate, calm pace back to Newt's still invisible case. The sound of latches clicking behind it had allowed Percival some sense of relief and he had instead turned his attention to the battle going on mere feet away from him.

Fortunately, Tina and Theseus seemed to have been holding their own against the marauding Grindelwald supporters as at least half of them had already lain unconscious, injured, incapacitated or dead around them. Both seemed to have worked well together as they fought back to back, shooting spells and defending it complimentary patterns to one another. Any other man might have left them to it, but Percival Graves was never someone to back down from a fight.

Mending his ripped, bloody shirt with a wave of his wand and painedly making his way to his feet, he had stunned two of the cloaked wizards before any of them had realised he was standing. Theseus had taken the others' surprise to his advantage and cast a full-body binding cast on one and stunned the other. Tina's and Percival's combined stunners had struck the last follower at the same time and he had pirouetted almost comically through the air before collapsing into a heap with his unconscious companions.

Percival had winced as the wounds on his chest throbbed with every beat of his pounding heart but ignored them in favour of demanding where the hell Newt was. Theseus and Tina had been equally as confused and angry as they explained to Percival that they had no idea – Grindelwald had just disapparated with Dumbledore and Newt in tow. Theseus had been visibly fuming and pale with panic – exclaiming that Dumbledore had gone back on his word and that he was going to let Newt die. Percival had become even more muddled but his demands for explanations had been met with vague, expletive laced, words about Dumbledore having told him of a chance for Newt to survive that he had now taken away by leaving Theseus behind. He had tried to press Theseus for a better explanation, but the man had been too angry to make much sense.

Instead, they had agreed to split up to search the castle for Newt, Grindelwald and any remaining supporters – not really seeing a better alternative forthcoming. Tina had taken the left-hand door, Theseus the right and Percival had gone back through the main entrance to investigate the doorway leading off the main atrium. There had been a shared tension – a fervour in the air that drove all three to move as quickly as they were able, but Percival had been the one to find Newt.

He had found that the endless seeming staircase he took led up to the roof and while he had not considered it especially significant at first, the screams that issued from above him had spurred him on. Curve after curve of the bannister had pulled him ever higher in the tube of stone, heaving his weakened, quaking body up the stairs, hearing the screams rise in pitch and then die out on his journey, fuelled him with terror. The voice had been painfully familiar; remembering the sounds Newt had made at the circus rally in Paris, he couldn't help but let his mind wonder what in Morgana's name could be happening to make the brave young magizoologist _shriek_ like that.

He had rounded the very last corner sweating heavily, breath coming out in harsh pants, sides splitting around his stitches and newly, partially healed wounds. Percival had pushed through the wooden door and out onto the blank stretch of roof where the duel of the century had been taking place. Grindelwald had been just in the process of sending a hailstorm of broken stone chunks from the surrounding shattered parapets at Dumbledore, who had blocked them with a cloud of conjured water that enveloped them and threw them right back at the other wizard. Percival had stood for several moments, unsure of whether to involve himself in such a high stakes duel, as the magical tension levels built ever higher. But eventually, his need to see Grindelwald pay for all the atrocities he had committed, had overridden his better judgement.

He had timed his attack particularly fortunately in retrospect – a moment later or sooner and he would likely have ended up dead – as he sent a wordless blasting curse at the dark wizard. The reason it had been fortunate was that Dumbledore had sent three consecutive spells at him a half-second before and not having realised where Percival's spell had come from, he had shielded from _just_ the wrong angle.

The curse had thrown Grindelwald backwards and Dumbledore had not hesitated to cast a series of impressively rapid spells that pinned the man down and bound him neck to toe in tight black cords. Obviously knowing that the full-body bind would not hold Grindelwald for very long, Dumbledore had then disarmed the other wizard, catching the pale, knobbly looking wand in his free hand.

The cry of rage that Grindelwald had released as he broke the cords binding him had made Percival flinch, even as he had hastened forwards, wand raised once more. He had never heard the man sound so furious. Having one's wand ripped from them was akin to the pain of losing a limb – a feeling that would never go away or leave you the same again. The Auror remembered that same pain from when Grindelwald had managed to disarm, incapacitate and capture him – seeing the darkest wizard of his time using his own wand against him had been an unbearable torment.

He hadn't understood the livid string of Germanic words that Grindelwald had hissed with his glare fixed upon Dumbledore, but he had heard the teacher's quiet reply even over the howling wind. "It's over, Gellert."

Of course, this had sent Grindelwald into a tirade of wandless incantations that Dumbledore had then been able to block much more easily with the use of both wands. However, Graves had found himself having to put up his own shield as some of the deflected spells flew his way – one had made its way past his shaky, lopsided defences and clipped him in the side. Unfortunately, it had happened to be the side that had already held a tender webbing of scars, underneath the lacerations that had more recently been inflicted and he had collapsed with a grit-teeth yell to the ground. Both wizards had continued to ignore him; dead-set on destroying one another to notice.

The blow to finally knock Grindelwald down and keep him there, had been an anti-climactically simple stupefying spell, but it had done the job. Grindelwald had laid unmoving on the stone roof of his own fortress, looking decidedly less intimidating covered in rubble, dust and splatters of blood flecking his white shirt and pale face.

He had looked almost human.

But it hadn't made Graves any the less enraged or repulsed by him or his detestable actions. Percival had made several failed attempts at standing to get to the then-bound and unconscious wizard, before he noticed that Dumbledore was no longer paying any attention to said wizard and was instead taking quick, purposeful steps across the roof.

It had been then that Percival had caught a glimpse of a tall, pale figure lying amongst the rubble of broken masonry on the far side of the rooftop. He had seen the familiar mop of coppery-blonde hair and the blood painting the shattered parapet below him. Percival had doubled his attempts to stand, clutching at his injured side and feeling warm blood seeping through his fingers as he had tried to force his body to get to Newt.

But even someone as hardened as he could not force his body past such limits after having nearly died less than an hour before, having bled out for long minutes and then pushed himself up flights of endless stairs. Not to mention the magical strain. It had overcome him all in that moment, when Newt needed help, and he had guiltily submerged into the oncoming darkness.

He had half-woken a few times before now, catching blurry glimpses of those light blue walls and stern faces of what he later realised to be doctors at the Austrian clinic that he had been brought to. His first properly waking concern had, of course, been for Newt, but the clinic attendants had assured him in broken English that his friend was alive and in the room down the hall from him. However, after Percival had attempted to make his way down said hall for the third time in a row - splitting open his stitches and having to be sedated by no less than four staff in order to return him to his room - they had relented.

He was currently in a shared room with a comatose, heavily sedated Newt. Percival's bed had been moved on wheels through to the same one as the young magizoologist, as the heavy warding and healing charms that had placed around Newt were too complex to risk breaking by moving him. He had been warned in further stern, half-understood tones by the doctors, not to attempt too much magic or movement, lest he hurt himself or Newt.

Now that he was able to watch over him, Percival felt a small tendril of guilt and awkwardness creep into him at the realisation that he was essentially invading the man's privacy by insisting on the change. He had just felt so concerned over the past week about what Grindelwald could be inflicting upon him, that anything less than constant guard on his part was not going to satisfy him. Percival knew precisely how invasive, insidious and cruel the dark wizard could be and subsequently, he did not try to touch Newt at all whilst they lay mere feet from each other. He didn't want to traumatise him any further by forcing contact or affection on him beyond acting as a silent vigil.

Percival spent an indiscernible amount of time watching and waiting – it could have been hours or days, the only gauge of time he had was the filtering in of light through the blinds and the comings and goings of the nurses. None of them attempted to talk to him other than to request that he sit up to allow them to rebandage him or that he eat or drink whatever they put in front of him. He did so because he knew that his body needed fuel to recover from the massive blood loss, injury and exhaustion, but he didn't really taste any of it as he continued to regard his young companion.

Newt lay as though asleep, but sleep wasn't the right word. A suffering man does not sleep but is trodden down into a place where wakefulness was too painful to bear. Percival had a feeling that even if he had not been infused with sedating charms, Newt would not have been able to remain conscious. In the time he had spent watching over him, Percival had gauged every visible suffering that had been inflicted upon his gangly, frail body.

Both legs had been repeatedly broken. One having set badly and consequently having to be re-set. A nasty process resulting in a loud series of cracks and pops that Percival had flinched at, brown eyes not leaving Newt's slack face as it happened. The second leg had been apparently half-healed by an attempted charm but had too needed to be set and splinted. They had coaxed a smoking dose of Skele-grow down the Magizoologist's throat that had sped up the process of healing both legs, a fractured rib and two fingers on his right hand that had apparently been crushed by fallen debris.

The expanse of burnt skin on his chest had been treated with various salves and wrapped, careful as well, of the half-healed lash marks that also littered Newt's torso, back and sides. Wards that were woven into the air of the room set about staving off infection in the much-abused wounds.

The symbol of the Deathly hallows that had been burned cruelly into his upper chest and collarbone area seemed to give the healers trouble as none of their magic had much effect on the black lines themselves, but they had at least managed to restore the reddened, peeling flesh around it.

Newt had also been suffering the symptoms of hypothermia, but with the aid of warming spells and layers of blankets, the violent shivering and stuttering breathing had been eased to the point where the man didn't appear to be quite on death's door.

Watching his throat being salved and bandaged had been particularly difficult for Percival to endure and he had felt his hands clench into shaking fists in the blankets. There had been hand shaped bruising patterns on the column of once smooth skin, but it had been the livid bite marks that had gotten to Percival. He couldn't help the disgust and rage that flowed through him at the image of Grindelwald choking and biting at Newt's throat as the younger man was trapped and helpless beneath him.

The dark wizard had never expressed such disturbing interest in Percival, so he got the feeling that it wasn't just some sort of power-play or humiliation on Grindelwald's part… no, this seemed more… personal. Apparently, Percival wasn't the only one who had noticed just how special Newt was. Percival had never considered himself to be a jealous or possessive man, but the idea that _Gellert Grindelwald_ had attempted to stake some sort of physical claim – as if he _owned_ him – on Newt, made a fierce, protective instinct flare up with Percival's chest. He could only hope that the marks on his throat were the fullest extent of what the bastard had done to him; he couldn't bear the thought that Grindelwald might have ripped away Newt's innocence in a much more appalling way.

That hadn't been the end of it though – still, there had been the blistered, scarring marks on his cheeks, nose and lips to deal with. Those had been treated more successfully than the burned symbol on his chest as there was apparently no dark magic residing within the wounds. Soon enough after the healers began their work, the skin of Newt's face was smooth and unblemished again, only a slight redness and thin white lines evidencing the damage that had been inflicted there.

And finally, _finally_ there had been whatever the hell had been done to his left arm. The healers had spent hours poring over various spell-books, consulting one another in rapid German and even attempting to ask Percival in stilted English what had happened. He had not been able to help much, other than to make the obvious suggestion that whatever it was had been inflicted by dark magic. As they were unsure of how to treat it, they had left the arm unbandaged and more or less in the same state as it had been when they started, eventually leaving to consult some more.

Percival had spent a long time examining the arm in horrified, contemplative reverie. The flesh of Newt's left arm was red from shoulder to fingertips – as if the skin had been dyed the colour of fresh blood and then decorated with patterns of burnt in silver. The spirals of what appeared to be glass and gleaming metal wove themselves round and round the appendage in elaborate, purposeful looking scars. It was as if lines of silver tinted glass were branded in the once pale, freckled flesh of Newt's arm and then up into the skin of his palm, spreading out in five distinct branches to trace their ways up the backs of his long fingers.

As confused and horrified by the overall appearance of the young magizoologist as he was, Percival couldn't help but find some comfort in being nearby the man whom who he had spent the past three months thinking of. Since the moment they met in New York, Percival had been inadvertently drawn to the odd British man who had saved his life. After months of being trapped, bound, abused and helpless in the dark little hole Grindelwald had stuck him in – the only company being the dark wizard's visits to take more of his hair and torture answers out of him – the appearance of a new face had been like the light of heaven itself shining down on him.

He still remembered the sudden beam of wand-light that had brightened the pitch black of his tiny, cramped cell and the shocked, hushed tones of the English accented wizard who had appeared in that glow. All Percival had been able to focus upon in those first moments had been the way the _Lumos_ charm had illuminated the perfect angles on Newt's face, nose and sharp cheekbones thrown into beautiful contrast with the soft, slightly boyish features. His lightly copper toned curls had flipped forward into his face as he placed his lit wand between his teeth and crouched down to check on Percival. His angelically blue eyes, framed by thick, feathery lashes, had searched out every injury on his person with silent, genuine concern.

The dusting of freckles upon his face had been the hint for Percival that this was actually a real man and not in fact a true angel come to deliver him from the hell he'd descended into. Those perfectly perfect imperfections had been what made him recognise Newt to be real and human, and not just a beautiful face of his imagined saviour. The subsequent minutes after Newt had called over his elder brother to aid in releasing and transporting Percival to the nearest hospital had been a blur of pain filled and hazy minded actions. The sensation he had fixed upon to ground himself had been the feeling of Newt's warm, calloused hand around his shoulder through the long-since shredded material of his dress shirt.

It was more than a little depressing for Percival to realise that most of the time they had actually spent in one another's company had been because one or the other had been in dire condition in a hospital room. He had been hinting for weeks in his letters that he would wish to visit Newt in England should he wish him to, but the ever-socially oblivious man had not seemed to catch on with his hints and after a while, he had relented. Whilst Percival was usually a confident man when it came to establishing romantic or social interactions, there was just something about Newt that made the self-assured Auror slip away and left him uncertain. It wasn't necessarily an unpleasant feeling by any means, but it left Percival taking matters much more slowly and carefully than he usually would.

The perfect imperfection of Newton Scamander was something that warranted taking his time with. Taking a leaf out of the Magizoologist's book **(pun intended)** , he had attempted to be subtler and more careful than he usually would in contacting him – not wishing to scare or upset him by being too forward too quickly. The letters between them had become increasingly frequent - Newt telling him of everyday occurrences with his creatures and Percival relaying messages of his recovery and any titbits of information on creatures that he had picked up at work. Newt had advised him on several cases concerning magical beasts and Percival had found himself slowly beginning to share the younger man's enthusiasm from the passionate, detailed way he described each creature. In his desk at home, Percival had a collection of hand sketched drawings of creatures that Newt had sent him – an image of a Bowtruckle here and a baby Occamy there – it was astonishing work. Newt Scamander never ceased to surprise him.

There had been topics that both had deliberately avoided of course – Percival on the topic of his time in captivity and Newt with the subject of his family. Despite his curiosity, Percival not broached the topic out of respect of his wishes and fear of their contact being discontinued should he upset the man. He had obviously been aware, by reputation, of Theseus Scamander – famous war hero and his much-respected counterpart in Magical Law enforcement across the channel – and had briefly met him before this whole mess started. But other than Theseus, Newt had been decidedly cagey about his family – only briefly mentioning that his mother had bred Hippogriffs and had passed away years before. Although, after Percival's experiences with both Scamander brothers, he could understand why they may not wish to speak about one another – they were practically polar-opposites after all.

As much as he respected Theseus and had meant what he had said to Grindelwald about the value of a Scamander in comparison to him - he still had his reservations about the elder brother. Sure, he was clearly caring and fiercely protective of Newt, but there was also a tension between the two that Percival could not ignore. Theseus had visited Newt twice since Percival had been moved into his room and the first time, he had grown visibly irritated by Percival's presence – demanding in fractured German and English why he was there. Percival had fixed the other Auror with a hard stare and tried to placate him by explaining that he simply wished to watch over Newt to make sure he recovered properly and remained safe.

The explanation had not seemed to help however, as Theseus had begun yelling at him about 'indecent behaviour' and 'overstepping boundaries' but had soon been asked to leave by the exasperated staff. The second time Theseus came had been some time later and he had all but ignored Percival as he sat by Newt's bedside – both sitting in silence as they watched Newt twitch every now and then and listened to his strained breathing.

Theseus had not come back yet since then. Percival was unsure of what he had done to offend the elder Scamander quite so much, but he had a niggling feeling that it had something to do with what he might have said under the influence of the Fire-whiskey several days before. He was genuinely uncertain on how that interaction had progressed but judging from the looks Theseus had been sending him ever since, Percival suspected that he might have been a bit _too_ honest about his feelings concerning Newt. Not having any younger siblings of his own that required constant watching – as he was beginning to suspect Theseus did with Newt – he wasn't entirely sure exactly what he could have said to warrant such hostility from the other Auror.

It was dark outside the shuttered blinds that covered the windows when Newt finally showing any signs of life. Percival had been dosing in his bed, drifting lightly in and out of consciousness as his healing wounds itched abysmally underneath the bandages and night-shirt he wore, and at first, he hadn't really noticed the movement on the bed nearby. He was used to Newt twitching and occasionally making small, almost unheard grunts or muttering in his magic induced sleep, but this time he was making movements that could be described much more accurately as thrashing. Percival shot up in bed as he heard the heart-wrenching whimpers that broke the near silence of the ward, he looked over to see that the younger man was jerking about on the bed, arms pressing deeper into the mattress as his legs kicked blindly at the blankets cocooning them.

Newt's face was scrunched even in his unconscious state and his breath was coming out in harsh hisses through his clenched teeth, face red and shining with sweat as he struggled with seemingly invisible forces. Likely a nightmare. Unsure of what to do - whether he should try to wake Newt, call an attendant or just leave him, Percival swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood, moving to stand at Newt's bedside, concern flowing through him like a cold wind. His hands hovered, unsure, above Newt's shoulder, contemplating whether to gently shake him into awareness or whether that might just make matters worse. Eventually, he settled for clasping hold of Newt's uninjured right hand and trying to offer comfort even if he wasn't aware of it.

The reaction was instantaneous, Newt's eyelids peeled half-open and though they took a few seconds to properly focus on him, the moment they did, he was flinging himself as far across the bed as he could. Too surprised – and though he wouldn't admit it too himself, weak - to stop him physically, Percival instinctively threw out his hand in a gesture of wandless magic to catch Newt before he hit the floor. The young man thrashed even harder in the gentle magic restraint, terror flashing across his face and eyes widening to reveal strained blue irises. Percival had to fight to control his magic as he gently lowered Newt back onto the bed before he could hurt himself by crashing onto the ground.

"Newt, calm down, you're going to hurt yourself." He tried to keep his voice in its usual steady, smooth pitch to reassure the clearly frightened and disorientated man, but his words seemed to have the complete opposite effect he had intended. Newt let out a half-strangled cry, eyes flicking around the room so quickly that Percival wasn't sure he was really seeing anything, curling his injured legs as tightly to himself as he could and wrapping his ruined arms around them. If it hurt him, Newt did not give any indication other than to continually pant heavily and rock very slightly in his hunched position. Percival could have sworn he heard Newt muttering something to himself between the heavy breaths, but he couldn't make any of it out, broken, slurred and quiet as the words were.

When Percival took a step closer and sat gingerly on the very edge of the bed, Newt's apprehensive gaze snapped to him, avoiding his eyes and blinking rapidly, but he didn't try to move away again, and Percival took it as an encouragement. "I'm not going to hurt you, Newt, you're safe, in a hospital in Salzburg. Just try to take deep breaths."

Newt blinked at him a few more times, eyes looking painfully uncertain, like a wild creature deciding whether to approach someone when shown kindness – timid and set to run at any second. His chest was still heaving with stuttering, too-fast breaths and Percival held out a hand very slowly, letting Newt see every movement clearly before reaching forward and taking Newt's uninjured hand in his own in a gentle grip, and guiding it to place his hand flat on Percival's chest.

"See, just like this, in and out, nice and slow." Percival regarded Newt earnestly, holding his hand in a loose grip – letting Newt know that he could move away at any time. He didn't. "Can you do that for me, Newt? Please? Just breathe."

The younger man took several long moments, regarding him with those doe-like blue eyes and then seemed to relax, if just a little and began to try to copy the movements of Percival's chest, of his heartbeat. His breathing slowed after a few minutes of slow intakes and exhales, shaky though they were, and eventually, Percival gently released Newt's hand which he instantly drew back into his lap. Newt still refused to look him in the eye, and though that was nothing particularly new, it still stung Percival a bit.

"Well done…" He breathed, moving to sit back on his own bed to give Newt some space. "Thank you, Newt."

The young magizoologist didn't reply, but his chin bobbed slightly in something that could have been a nod. He still looked set to run at any moment, but at least he was no longer in a state where he could give himself a panic attack or hurt himself by thrashing about too much. At least Percival hoped he wasn't. He felt so awfully useless just sitting here, but thanks to the obviously too overfamiliar behaviour that Grindelwald had treated him with, the young man was not going to let him near for very long, if at all.

Newt slowly stretched his no-doubt hurting legs out onto the bed in front of him with a hiss of pain and still eying Percival like he was a genuinely dangerous beast – not in the way Newt normally would, with fascination, but with the same trepidation that anyone else might. He feared him. And it didn't seem general enough to just be the general anxiety that Percival might expect, it seemed more… directed.

In an attempt to put Newt further at ease, he swung his legs back up onto the bed and settled back down in the sheets, trying to reassure him that he wasn't about to attack him. Newt's uninjured hand went up to curl reflexively through his fringe, pushing it back away from his face and repeatedly tugging at the strands in a random seeming manner.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Newt, no one is – Grindelwald was defeated and no one else was hurt." Percival kept his voice purposefully low and calm, even if he was experiencing some severe concern for the Magizoologist's uncertain gaze and lack of verbosity. Percival winced as the itching sensation in his healing wounds twinged particularly strongly, resisting the urge to rub the offended areas. Newt's gaze widened slightly at his grimace and he twitched forward slightly, as if wanting to move forward to help before more uncertainty flashed across his face and he sank further back against the headboard.

"I… are y-you a-alright? After-...I t-tried to s-stop it… but I wasn't s-strong enough… I'm s-s-orry…" Of course, the first words that came out of Newt's mouth would be an apology – trust him to feel bad for trying to protect Percival in the state he had been in. he released a slight huff of a laugh that seemed to surprise Newt and Percival offered him a small, genuine smile.

"You've got nothing to be sorry for – you anticipated something that none of the rest of us did, I'm willing to wager that I might not be alive had you not acted so quickly. Thank you."

A strange look flashed across Newt's face at the expression of gratitude and his fingers curled faster through his hair, his gaze still fixed somewhere upon the blankets surrounding Percival's midriff. He wished that Newt would just meet his gaze, but he wasn't going to make the mistake of rushing him. These things would take time, and of all people, Newt was worth waiting for. The younger man had helped him through his own difficulties as best he could through the postal correspondence over the past few months, it was a better feeling knowing that he could do the same in person for Newt now.

"Is the N-niffler a-alright? My c-creatures? My case?" Newt sounded like he was beating himself up for not asking about his portable Magizoo sooner and he offered another reassuring smile as he replied.

"All perfectly fine. In fact, your Demiguise had a big hand in saving my life." Newt looked surprised at the mention of the creature before his expression relaxed slightly and he nodded.

"They're very c-caring creatures – most people don't give t-them much thought apart f-from the value of their hides." His voice was soft and a bit surer of itself than before and Percival took it as a good sign – the topic of his creatures seemed to be one that Newt could handle.

"Well, he got me enough Dittany to stop me from bleeding out, so I'll have to find some way to repay the little guy, any ideas?"

Newt cracked a half-smile. "Dougal's favourite is cabbage."

That prompted a proper laugh from Percival that seemed to shock Newt slightly before he allowed some further tension to leak out of his emaciated frame.

"I'll be sure to get him a crate full of the best cabbages I can find." Percival promised and Newt's smile, as small as it was, warmed his heart.

 **A/N – Sorry about the delay – writer's block. But thank you APU for the fantastic responses!**


	25. Chapter 25

" **Ever fearful of the answer, when the candle in the tunnel, is flickering and sputters and fading faster. It's only then that you will know, what lies above or down below or if these fictions only prove, how much you've really got to lose…It's either quite a master plan or just chemicals that help us understand, that when our hearts stop ticking, this is the end and there's nothing past this" – 'St Peter's Cathedral' – Death Cab for Cutie**

Newt was unsure of the sight of Percival that awaited him the next time he woke. The last one had been both alarmingly like the fake-Percival he had recognised before but also disarmingly new. The small smiles, the laughter that seemed to just _not_ be Grindelwald's, alongside the reassuring, cautious behaviour was enough to lull him, if only a little. But he was well aware of the unlikelihood of this all being real – the scenario that Grindelwald was gone, that no one else had been hurt, that he was in less pain than he had been for a long time and that Percival was alive and being so sweet and caring to him… he was struggling to believe that any of it was real. It just seemed to be more like another one of Grindelwald's tricks to lull him into a false sense of security before he began hurting him again.

This image honestly just left him even more confused. The sight of Director Percival Graves being yelled at by Newt's older brother was more bemusing than anything else. Percival was sat still in the bed across from him, looking oddly formal even in his blue striped nightshirt and tucked into the blankets as he was. But the expression on his face was what perplexed Newt – it was halfway between attempted patience and frustration as Theseus continued to raise his voice. His elder brother's back was to Newt and Percival seemed to be a little preoccupied with the verbal assault being levelled at him to spare much attention Newt's way as he watched. He absently noticed that his arm itched.

The sight of both his brother and the maybe-Percival being there at the same time made Newt slightly less suspicious of the latter, as he couldn't imagine that Grindelwald would bother trying to find someone to impersonate his brother on top of his own Percival façade. It seemed like too much effort for him to go to just to try to trick Newt – the dark wizard already knew that Newt had seen through him quickly before. And besides, the argument that the two were clearly having seemed too real for to all be for show – neither genuinely seemed to realise Newt was awake. Grindelwald wasn't usually one to ignore him.

Newt didn't sit up or move too much from his position against the pillows as he didn't want to draw too much attention to himself, but he also didn't like the tone with which Theseus was addressing maybe-Percival. He couldn't imagine what the American Auror could have done to upset his brother quite this much. _He usually reserves this amount of yelling for you, doesn't he?_

"- just irresponsible and selfish!" Newt properly tuned in on Theseus' words just as the man paused, shoulders tense and the back of his neck visible above his neat collar looking flushed with annoyance. Percival just continued to regard him patiently but with irritation clear in the set of his lips and brows.

"If you're quite finished, Scamander, I think it might be best if you left before the staff escort you out again." As if sensing Theseus about to give another angry outburst - _I bet his face has turned something closer to jam colour by now -_ Percival raised his hand and cut across him. "I understand your concerns, but this is between Newt and myself – I would rather gauge his opinion on the matter before you start making his decisions for him. I'm certainly not going to attempt to force him into anything and neither do I intend on raising the matter before he is ready."

Unsure of what exactly they were talking about, other than that it seemed to concern him, Newt was tempted to vocalize his confusion, but at the same time finding some solace in just watching the interaction and not being the subject of unwanted attention. He knew that the moment either of them noticed he was awake they would put themselves on guard again and Theseus would likely just fuss over him. _Or that the illusion would break._ Unfortunately, the choice was taken away from him by the Percival in the bed looking over to him and noticing he was awake. The Auror's face looked to be a tad abashed at having been caught talking about him and he straightened further against the bedframe. This was just another little reaction that made Newt a bit more confident in his hope that this might well be the real Percival – Grindelwald never looked embarrassed by anything, let alone feeling shame for anything he had done in Newt's presence.

"Newt, how are you feeling?" Newt cringed at the question as Theseus consequentially turned to face him, a red flush present on his cheeks and a combination of annoyance and concern swirling in his blue eyes.

Newt didn't venture a verbal response but nodded softly – he felt better than he had in days, as if the ever-present pain was trapped under a funny, fuzzy layer that kept it dull and distant. He had the feeling that the shimmer of spells in the air around him were likely the source of the dampened feeling, but overall the multiple injuries coating his body beneath the sheets had clearly been treated properly. When he had awoken earlier to the maybe-Percival hovering over him, his body had been a familiar flare of different but mostly indiscernible agonies that had only worsened as he struggled away. This second time in waking had left him a little more cognizant what with the lessened suffering and having had time enough to wake on his own rather than being shocked out a reminiscent nightmare by a perceived living one.

His head felt oddly heavy, as if there was a weight beyond the effects of the healing and numbing charms that laced the air around him. The presence of that odd little voice was dampened a bit but there was something else, niggling away at the back of his mind that left him feeling… _off_. He couldn't quite name what it was, but it lingered on from his dreaming state into his waking moments despite the presence of healing magic in the room. It was sort of like a layer of sand weighing down the bottom of his mind - damp and heavy but ever shifting along with the ebb and flow of... _something_. It could have been easy to pass the feeling off as foreign magic, but that didn't feel like quite the right description either.

As Theseus stepped forward now, Newt did not shrink away and offered him a slight twitch of his lips to attempt to reassure him. His fingers curled around the edge of the blanket, feeling surprised as fresh pain flared up hungrily in his left hand and he gasped, glancing down to see some of the oddest-looking scars he had ever witnessed. The blood-stained skin was now veined with spirals of glassy-silver that he could feel _within_ his flesh. Newt stared, transfixed down at what could only be the remnants of the blood-pact branded into him – he had been aware of the agony as the pact had tested him, but he hadn't realised that the connection had made a permanent physical connection such as this. Now that he had noticed it however, he couldn't seem to _not_ notice it – the itching, uncomfortable sensation of solid yet fragile feeling materials inside his arm and hand made him want to claw at his flesh to just get the stuff _out_.

Without realising it, Newt's breathing had spiked, and he was feeling rather dizzy with the need to rid himself of the horrible, immovable feeling that had set itself inside him. Not just in his flesh but in his head and heart as well. The idea that the bond that had once connected Albus and Grindelwald was now residing within him was unsettling – it felt like he was being forced in between the two men even more than he already was. He had thought that once the bond was transferred to him, he would die, and this would all be over - that he could attempt to move past the horrors he had endured and witnessed with the help of his creatures and friends. But the scarred silver markings were a painful reminder that it wouldn't happen.

Newt felt hot tears prick at the backs of his eyes as he suddenly felt a weight settle on the mattress beside him and he flinched, his head jerking up to look at Theseus. His brother's expression was uncharacteristically soft and aggrieved as he regarded Newt and gently reached forward to pull Newt's right hand from where it had apparently been attacking the left. His fingernails had unconsciously been digging into the ridges of metal in a vain attempt to pry them out - blood bubbling up in thin lines along the wounds, staining his nails. The younger man released a shuddering exhale as Theseus removed his grip, hovering slightly as if worried Newt might continue, but he didn't. "Thanks, Thee…"

The use of his childhood nickname sent a twinge of something odd that Newt couldn't quite put his finger on, across his sibling's face and he offered a grim smile. "No worries, little brother."

"W-what- what happened to G-grindelwald?" Newt ventured his inner fears in a soft but firm voice, bringing his eyes up to meet Theseus' – a rare direct demand for honesty. Theseus sighed and shifted to stand instead, hands delving habitually into his pockets and briefly glancing to where Percival sat before looking back to Newt. The magizoologist relaxed very slightly at the distance, he wasn't scared of his brother, but he wasn't feeling up to having anyone too near him right now.

"Dumbledore defeated Grindelwald, about three days ago now, and – against the wishes of the Ministries – apparently secured him in a location that he refuses to disclose to any of us." Theseus scowled slightly at this – clearly unhappy with the personal approach and lack of propriety that Albus was taking with the dark wizard. "His supporters are being hunted down and imprisoned across the globe as many exposed themselves during that business in Paris. My department even managed to track down the Obscurial and contain him – Tina has been charged by MACUSA – under my recommendations - to watch over him until the boy's fate is decided by the Department of International Magical Cooperation."

The words brought a little relief to Newt, but the idea that Grindelwald was imprisoned once more did not bring as much reprieve as he would have hoped – the wizard had escaped from MACUSA's finest cells before. Even the idea that Albus himself was handling the situation did not make Newt's worry any less – not even Albus was faultless and his care for Grindelwald could lead him to more lenient than necessary with any restraints. There was a small, niggling part of Newt's mind that felt some tiny traces of pity for the idea of Grindelwald being defeated and locked away by the man he still harboured twisted, yet genuine feelings for.

He was glad however, that it was Tina who had been allowed to care for Credence – the boy had already suffered enough and hopefully Tina would be able to act as a much-needed balm of affection on his wounds. Hopefully, with Grindelwald out of the way and his followers being imprisoned, Credence might be allowed to live without fear anymore. Newt was also glad that in some odd way – his own suffering had acted as enough of a distraction that Grindelwald had left the boy alone. _Had apparently forgotten his threats against him in light of his new obsession?_

"Right…" It was all Newt could think to say and Theseus looked like he wanted to say more but was interrupted as the door to the hospital room opened and a severe looking nurse in a white smock bustled in. She came directly over to Newt and he eyed the newcomer slightly cautiously, the fingers of his uninjured hand playing nervously with the edge of the blankets again.

"Awake? Trefflich. How do you feel?" The fractured English was laced with a heavy German accent and Newt nodded as he had to the earlier question. She seemed dissatisfied with his response however and withdrew a short, dark wand and began waving it over him in spiralling patterns.

Though he recognised the pink glimmer spell for their diagnostic purposes he couldn't contain his flinch at the various memories of Grindelwald making similar movements around him to inflict pain. Percival's voice thankfully distracted him from his discomfort as the movements continued and he gratefully averted his gaze to look at the other patient. "Your Bowtruckle friend seems eager to see you again. Tina brought him here earlier, but you were still asleep, so she left her with me."

"Him." Newt corrected softly with a half-smile – it was admittedly difficult to gender Bowtruckles without knowing the creatures well, so Percival's mistake was a common one.

A familiar little green head poked out from Percival's top pyjama pocket and Newt felt a thrill of joy at seeing Pickett safe and sound again after what felt such a long time. Despite his worries of being accused of favouritism towards the patriarch and repeatedly trying to leave him with his family when he left the house – Pickett had always seemed to find his way back into his coat pocket. He was heart-warmingly loyal to him and he loved him all the more for it, even if he was a cheeky little thing at times.

He had to admit he was surprised the skittish creature taking such an apparent liking to Percival however and the fact that he seemed to like him reassured Newt that bit more that this wasn't another trick. The Bowtruckle seemed content to be handed back over to Newt by one of Percival's long fingers as he leant forwards across the gap between their beds. He smiled a little more as he remembered the similar scene that had taken place between Percival and himself in New York when they had first officially met. It seemed that the little creature had a knack for bringing the two of them together.

"Keine Haustiere erlaubt!" The nurse's harsh voice and unfortunate choice of wording cut through Newt like a knife and he flinched back from her into the pillows, blinking rapidly, teeth clenching slightly. In his head, he knew that it was probably just an incidental phrasing, but even so, the familiar yet unfamiliar word jolted him into a string of unpleasant memories. He forced them back with irritation – he couldn't let every single familiar word or gesture put him off like this. They were just coincidences and besides, he didn't even really know what the word meant – it could well be completely accidental and common utterance. _Or it could be something else – difficult not being sure isn't it?_

None of them seemed to have noticed his reaction or if they had, then they did not mention it, instead Theseus said something back to the nurse in rudimentary German that made her frown further but nod stiffly. Theseus in turn nodded to Newt who reached out again and took Pickett from Percival, allowing his friend to climb along his arm and nuzzle against his face. He smiled fondly down at the Bowtruckle as he settled down in the hollow of his pronounced collarbone. It felt unbelievably relieving to have such a familiar presence back with him as Pickett began chirping away – scolding him for the state he'd gotten himself into. Newt chuckled slightly at his indignance and cossetting behaviour.

"Wasn't exactly my fault you know Pick. Save it for your own children why don't you." His murmur prompted a breathy chuckle from Percival and Newt glanced up to see Percival regarding him with a soft, incredibly warm look smouldering in his chocolate brown eyes.

He could tell that the older man likely wasn't laughing at his words but at the sight of him being mother-henned over by a Bowtruckle. But that warmth… it was odd to see – the last few times he had seen Percival, before coming to this hospital, he had been stern and distracted. Now he just looked concerned and oddly fond. It made heat rise in Newt's cheeks to be looked at in such a way by the imposing, handsome Auror… and in front of his brother no less. Newt ducked his head to fix his gaze upon the sheets in his lap for want of something to distract him from the pleasant, equally warm sensation that was kindling within his chest.

Fortunately, Newt was saved from the awkward silence that had filled the room by someone opening the door just as the nurse was going to leave. The two sidestepped around one another politely and Albus entered the room, the door clicking shut softly behind him as he removed his hat and leather gloves.

The man looked infinitely weary as he nodded a greeting to each of the men in turn – his face weathered, eyes sunken in their sockets and surrounded by dark circles. He seemed to have aged nearly ten years in the short time since Newt had seen him. Though he smiled at Newt, his lips seemed a little thinner than before, underneath a beard now streaked more liberally with grey than auburn. It seemed as though whatever lengths he went to in order to defeat and secure Grindelwald had drained him terribly.

"Good to see you awake, Newt." His voice was pitched in his usual even tone that contrasted with his haggard looking appearance. "I would have visited sooner, but securing Gellert was no simple feat, in fact in was rather consuming. But I can assure you all, that I have done everything within my rather expansive – if I do say so myself – capabilities to make sure that he shall not be making any more dramatic escapes in the foreseeable future."

The wry humour in Albus' tone further contrasted with the earnestness Newt could see in his blue eyes – he clearly wanted to ensure that the magizoologist was sure of his sincerity even if the tone was kept light for the sake of consolation and of placating Theseus' obvious irritation. Newt wasn't sure how to respond to the words, but he got the feeling that the other man knew his message had been conveyed and received as intended, as a little of the tension leaked out of his furrowed brows. There was a twinge in the heaviness of Newt's mind that left him confused as he got the distinct feeling that Albus wished to speak with him alone - about something important. He wasn't sure where the impression came from, but whatever it was, made him quite certain of the idea.

"Uh Thee… um could you possibly give us a minute?" He turned his gaze to study his brother's shoulder and heard an annoyed huff of breath leave him before he looked between Newt and Albus. "Please?" That seemed to do it as Theseus let out another irritated exhale but strode off, nonetheless.

The door shut a little louder than he had perhaps intended as Theseus left the room, but Newt couldn't help but be slightly bemused by the state of near-constant irritation he seemed to be in at the moment. He clearly wasn't happy with Albus or Percival for whatever reasons.

Newt turned an apologetic, uncertain gaze towards Percival but the Auror seemed to pre-empt him by making the attempt to push himself up out of the bed to stand. "My legs could use a stretch about now – been stuck in bed far too long already."

Newt sent him a grateful and still awkward smile as Percival too left the room, eying Newt oddly for a few moments before closing the door behind him. Newt regarded Albus, still slightly wary as the older man went to sit on the wooden visitor's chair on the other side of his bed.

"How- how did you do that?" Newt stumbled out and Albus' brow furrowed slightly at the question.

"Do what?"

"You- I um _felt_ that you wanted to talk… in my…um mind…" He trailed off lamely, unsure of how to voice his confusion and the feeling without sounding like an idiot. Albus's expression softened and he nodded in understanding.

"That was a part of what I wished to discuss with you." His voice was slightly stilted as he seemed to choose his words with great care, as if unsure of how to approach. "The breaking of the Blood-pact has had consequences that I had not thought possible."

"What do you mean?" Newt asked puzzledly and Albus sighed before speaking with that same great care. This was no longer the voice of the confident, patient teacher nor the resigned warrior – it was of a man who truly was unsure of what he was experiencing or how to voice it but was attempting to reassure others by maintaining his usual verbosity.

"The research that both Gellert and I had done into the subject of blood-pacts had led us to believe that once the bond was transferred into a living vessel – namely yourself – then they would be tested for… suitability by the magic and then were… sacrificed in the process. However…" His gaze was uncertain, pained and apologetic though traced with something akin to fascination. "it seems that the bond found you to be… _more_ than suitable to bear the pact and instead of destroying you... it integrated."

"I'm afraid I don't quite understand."

Blue eyes met blue with increasing intensity "The bond is a living thing in itself, Newt – born of blood and magic; of a connection between two individuals. It seems that it simply decided that you were… a close enough match to the participants – namely myself and Gellert - that it remained within you. It latched on and against all odds – survived in a lessened form to live in a new vessel. As a living host I'm not entirely sure what it would mean for you, but I have a notion that some of the side-effects that Gellert and I experienced from the bond may have been passed on into you."

"For instance, the ability to sense one another's minds and heightened state of emotions. That would be why you sensed my earlier desire to speak with you in private – through different means than the usual social ques that you would have otherwise likely missed." He offered a pained smile to Newt that was heart-wrenching to witness when combined with the sincere guilt and grief in his eyes. "Instead of breaking the blood-bond, I seem to have only cemented your role as an unwilling intermediary between myself and Gellert. I don't believe there are words that could express how sorry I am for this, Newt."

As the implications of Albus' words sunk in, Newt was surprised to find that the words were not nearly as troubling as they should have been.

Despite the fact that he was now connected through blood, magic and minds to the man who had made his life a living hell.

Despite the fact that he was now emotionally entuned with two men caught between love and hate for another.

Despite the fact that he was now essentially trapped in a blood-bond with the darkest wizard of his time…. Newt could not drudge up any more resentment, terror or shock.

He knew he should be feeling a multitude of overwhelming emotions right now, but the odd, heavy feeling that resided within his mind gave him the comforting feeling that this was how the situation was meant to resolve itself. It was not quite like the blindly placating, careless fog of the _Imperius_ curse – it was a more genuine feeling that made a logical sense that magical manipulation usually lacked.

There was nothing to be done about the bond – he could feel that it was immovable. Attempting to remove it would be akin to trying to empty the oceans of their silt foundations. That same granular, infinite and ever-shifting sensation now lay in the very foundations of his consciousness. Rather than worry obsessively and futilely over the things he couldn't change, Newt knew that he should apply his usual practical, adaptable nature to this new situation.

He could sense that nothing essential about himself had been altered by the presence of the bond – the only changes he was experiencing were the aftermath of what Grindelwald had done to him. That would be a pain that would not be easy to overcome, it would take time to get past – not to forget – but to learn to live with the seemingly frequent reminders of what he had endured. But that's what his friends, creatures and his brother were there for. To help him through the mires of misery and madness he had been submerged into. Newt knew that he was worrying further them with his skittish behaviour and lack of verbal responses and felt guilt eat at him – though he couldn't help the reactions – it wouldn't be fair for them to worry without knowing how to help. He knew better than most how much being unsure of how to help another could eat away at you. He recognized that he would have to open up to them and talk about what had happened before he could begin to heal.

It was the same kind of care and logic he had used himself over and over with caged, suffering or delirious creatures and, though it was difficult to apply that same logical subjectivity to himself after all that had happened, there was something that told him he could do it. It wasn't the quiet, often cruelly candid little voice – he sensed that _this_ helpful honesty was stemming from the base of the bond. He looked over to meet Albus' concerned, twinkling blue gaze which was now alit with a twinge of hopeful warmth and Newt gave him a tired smile.

This bond might have more benefits that he had originally thought. It seemed as though the meaning and the reassuring words Albus had intended for him had all been transferred without a single word passing either of their lips.

"I wasn't sure if that would actually work, you know." Albus' voice was soft and held a light humour and Newt raised an eyebrow.

"I- is there anything else I should know or that you could tell me?" Newt paused, a frown creasing his brows slightly as he continued. "I think I've had enough surprises and people in my head for a lifetime."

Albus looked regretful but slightly calmer than before – as if the tension of anticipating Newt's reaction had left him feeling inexplicably better. Though he still looked at felt inexhaustibly exhausted, Newt could now focus more upon the sense that the older man was suffering from a massive overexertion of magic. He had put everything he had into ensuring that Gellert would stay exactly where he was.

"Well, as I said, this is somewhat new territory in terms of magical law or explorations, but from what I can discern about the nature of the pact that I have experienced for myself is that you will experience a sense of shared consciousness?" The last part was left as a question to which Newt nodded.

"But wait… how were you and Grindelwald able to fight one another with the bond still being intact?" He voiced the query as the confusion struck him.

"I cannot be certain, but I suspect that as the blood-pact took you to be an acceptable – even perfect – host, it remained active but instead of inflicting the penance of us breaking the terms on us as would have happened otherwise… it did so upon you." He looked apologetic again as his gaze went to examine Newt's left arm with puzzled fascination. "I believe it was why the bond made such a… physical mark upon you and drained you of almost all your strength. When I came to you after apprehending Gellert, you were... very near death – it took a great deal of magic to bring you back enough to transport you to more experienced hands."

Newt took this in with widened eyes - the situation was undoubtedly surreal but at the same time there was the strangest feeling that he had been… _prepared_ for it. He couldn't explain it, but that seemed like the right way to phrase it.

"It's funny you should think that." Albus said with a fond breath of laughter. "I have held a sneaking suspicion that your affinity with creatures may have been part of what drew the bond in. As I said, the blood-pact holds a life of its own and a sense that allows it to verify whether a potential host is worthy, and I suspect that your natural gift with creatures may have had a hand in satisfying it."

Newt nodded, feeling eternally unsure of how to respond to the seemingly never-ending stream of bizarre occurrences and utterances that had been surrounding him as of late. He felt as if his capacity to be shocked had almost dried up by now. But he was infinitely fortunate to know that his creature friends were there for him – even if his human ones grew impatient or uncaring, he would still have his creatures. Theseus could be as mad at him, Percival and Albus as he wanted but Newt could always still rely on the fact that his creatures would be there for him. Feeling Pickett nuzzle affectionately against his bruised and bitten – _marked -_ neck, he could feel some semblance of peace flowing through him.

Gellert was secured away. He had felt Albus' honesty in the matter and he knew that it wasn't likely that the dark wizard was going to be able to hurt anyone ever again as long as he was trapped by Albus' magic…. He had the Elder Wand. That realisation surprised him out of his silent reverie, and he glanced up to Albus again with concerned, questioning eyes. He wasn't sure how he felt about his friend holding the wand that had caused so much harm to so many people – including himself.

Albus withdrew the wand, alongside his own and held them in light, tentative grips before him; almost as if showing them up to Newt for his opinion. He regarded the abnormally long, knobbled wand and the strange white symbols carved into the handle with some trepidation. If the tales of Beedle the Bard were to be believed – then this was the most powerful wand in existence… and Albus now owned it.

"What are you going to do with it? If you don't mind me asking…" He ventured and Albus looked uncertain once more.

"I had to use it to remove the numerous layers of spells that Grindelwald had woven across the world – into people, creatures, objects and buildings alike before using it again to secure him within Nurmengard." He turned questioning eyes up to Newt and the magizoologist could sense that he was requesting permission once more. "There is one final act that I could perform with this should you allow me to?"

"W-what would that be exactly?" Newt asked nervously, fingers fiddling with the blankets once more, left hand twinging in pain as he did so. Albus' gaze followed Newt's down to the left hand, and he hesitated before speaking.

"I would be able to remove some of the more… persistent magic that Gellert worked upon you with the use of the wand that inflicted it." Newt swallowed slightly before giving a jerky nod – anything that could alleviate the physical reminders of his treatment would be worth the temporary discomfort of seeing Gellert's wand in Albus' hand.

Newt gritted his teeth as Albus took his arm in a gentle grip with one hand and raised the Elder Wand with the other, moving it back and forth in gradually increasing spiralling patterns - following the lines of scarred silver. The reddened tinge to Newt's skin began to fade, returning to its usual pale, freckled state as the magic worked into his flesh. The irritated skin from where Newt had clawed at the markings too disappeared and some of the discomfort lessened… but the silver markings remained.

Albus frowned but sighed slightly, as if having expected such a result "That is unfortunate. I'm sorry, Newt, but there is something preventing any attempts of reversal for the marks themselves. All I can do is ease the pain."

"Thank you for trying." Newt murmured, gazing down at the new, apparently permeant additions to his body. At least they looked a little less vibrant against the pale tone of his skin now – the silver and glass no longer contrasting so harshly with the bloody colour of before. He hesitated before looking up to Albus with an awkward, apologetic quirk of his lips. "Is t-there um- any chance you could do anything about this?"

Newt shakily unbuttoned and pulled aside the top of his nightshirt to reveal the seared sign of the Deathly Hallows. There was a twinge of pain in Albus' expression but he nodded and raised his wand. Though Newt could feel the strain this was having on the elder wizard's magic, this spell seemed to take better effect as the symbol slowly, ever so slowly began to disappear beneath the guided power of the Elder Wand. Soon, all that was left was a very pale set of raised white scars that almost completely blended into the rest of Newt's milky skin – a pale mockery remaining of what had once been severe, angry black burns.

"Thank you." He said earnestly, knowing exactly how much that had taken out of the other wizard. Newt gently released his grip upon the neck of his shirt, letting it fall back across the now partially healed skin. He eyed the Elder Wand again warily. "But what exactly _do_ you plan to do with it now?"

"In order to maintain the spells and wardings I placed upon Gellert, I cannot destroy it, but I do not intend to use it beyond that function." He looked down at the wand in his hand with conflict clear in his gaze but also those familiar traces of wonder that Newt had seen before. Holding the object that made up one third of the Deathly Hallows – the most powerful Hallow that he had spent his younger years coveting and seeking. It must hold great temptation to him. Even after all it had done… Newt could sense that Albus could see the wand for the good it could do. But there was also a part of him that simply wished to hold it because it would make him powerful above all others – an academic, indefinable craving for power.

Power like that was a force that could be harnessed for great good or great evil. But it could be especially corrupting to those who fought against temptation on a regular basis – those who strived against their inner demons to be better. Albus did not need that added pressure by using the wand further than was necessary.

Albus tore his gaze away from the Elder Wand to look up at Newt with surprise and a different kind of wonder etched across his weathered face, blue eyes brighter than usual. "You're wise beyond your years, Newt."

Newt chuckled at that. "I think Theseus might disagree with you there."

Albus replied with a chuckle of his own and stowed both wands back into his inner cloak pockets, moving to stand. "I'm sure I don't need to tell you of all people that your brother is not always right – a good man though he is." His eyes flickered towards the door before going back to Newt with a new softness. "He may believe that he's doing what's best for you, but I advise you not to let any opportunities slip away from you because of his disapproval. There are few worse things than being alone in life, but one that I know too well is the pain of acting too late."

Newt was going to question what he meant; oddly not being able to sense the meaning behind his words as Albus went to leave. When he opened the door, he revealed a slightly sheepish, though still defiant looking Percival standing there. If Newt didn't know better, he might have thought that the man was eavesdropping. As it was, he entered the room through the held-open door and returned to his bed, settling back down with a slight wince, gripping his side as he settled himself back down. Albus nodded once to both men, shooting Newt a smile as he replaced his hat and gloves with quick, elegant movements.

"I wish you a wholehearted recovery, Newt."

Newt smiled his thanks and then the door closed, leaving him and the man he was nearly entirely sure was Percival, alone once more. Newt felt rather drained all of a sudden - as if the sudden lack of new things to worry about had left him deflated. He had been running on fumes until now. The feeling in his head was present as ever, though now felt less leaden – likely due to the absence of another bond participant in the room. He leant back against the pillows, trying very hard _not_ to think of everything that had led up to this moment. But even someone as stubborn as Newt Scamander could not ward off the horrors of what had happened forever. With no more distractions, even the presences of Pickett and Percival could not distract him.

The voice began its insistent whispering after a blissfully long absence. _How are you ever going to fix any of this, Newt? You were tortured for days. You were molested ands nearly raped by the darkest wizard of your time who you are now bound to in blood, magic and mind – forever! You were forced to eat the butchered flesh of your own father. How are you going to tell Theseus hmm? How're you gonna tell him that you ate daddy dearest? That he died because Grindelwald was trying to impress you? That you had Gellert Grindelwald lusting after you? I think we both know that there isn't any amount of 'friendship' in the world that can heal this kind of broken-_

Newt hadn't realised that tears had been seeping from his scrunched closed eyes as his head lay heavily against the pillow until they shocked open. There was a warm, rough hand on his cheek, rubbing away at the trails of tears that streaked them with gentle touches. It wasn't like Grindelwald's touch – it wasn't violent or cloying enough to make his skin crawl. This touch was soft and genuine, as was the warm, crackling concern that shone in Percival's bottomless brown eyes. There was a clear hesitance to the way he was crouched on the floor beside his bed – not attempting to impeach upon his personal space as Grindelwald would have. His slightly slumped, pain tensed posture, that told Newt the Auror was almost as unsure of his intentions as Newt was.

And that was what made Newt stay in the touch.

Percival had seen the pain he was in, had witnessed the struggle of not breaking down and he had offered what physical contact he could to make it better. The surprise of the tender gesture was a familiar thing to him, but the warmth that rekindled in his aching chest was brand new.

It was hope.

 **A/N – Well that's the last chapter of this one! Sorry it took so long again and that it was kind of flaky. But I rewrote it a hundred times and this was the best result. The sequel was distracting me too much as I already have most of it planned out, but if anyone has suggestions or requests, I'm more than willing to include em!**

 **It will be much more Gramander based but there will be a lot of dark though not violent themes in it…. so be warned!**


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